Flogger For Hire
by donnaann55
Summary: Kurt Hummel is a struggling artist in New York. He's doing quite well with his little sideline though, thank you very much. He can wield a whip with the best of them.
1. Chapter 1

**Flogger for Hire**

**Chapter 1: Just a Job**

Leather backpack slung over one shoulder, garment bag over the other, Kurt Hummel whistled as he climbed the steps of the boutique hotel just off Times Square. "Afternoon, George. How's the leg?"

The doorman smiled as he pulled the heavy brass-framed door open for Kurt. "Right as rain, Mr. Hummel. Thank you." In the ten years George Ramirez had worked these doors a staggeringly minuscule amount of guests had ever taken the time to learn his name and even fewer troubled themselves to ask how he was doing. As far as George was concerned, not that anyone was asking, Kurt Hummel could do no wrong.

Pausing in the granite tiled lobby, Kurt grinned at the doorman. "Ready to show your grandson how it's done?"

"No, sir!" George shook his mane of grey hair, his laughing green eyes bracketed by fine lines. "Skateboards are not for me!"

"If at first you don't succeed..."

"Quit!" George grimaced, wild eyebrows descending into the frown that chased zealots wielding printed dogma away from the hotel.

"Or quit." With a smile that lit his crystal eyes, Kurt nodded to George and crossed the lobby to the reception desk. "Kalinda, how are the numbers?"

The young woman behind the desk, her brown hair discretely tied at the nape of her neck to hide the tattoo that senior management considered unprofessional, sighed dramatically as she handed Kurt his key card. "Not good, Mr. Hummel."

Slipping the key into his pocket, Kurt grimaced in sympathy. "Next week?"

"Yes, Sir. That's the plan." Kalinda played the same numbers every week, convinced that her dream house was only one lottery ticket away.

Starting for the elevators, Kurt called out the first half of their weekly mantra. "Someone's going to win ..."

"So, why shouldn't it be me?" Kalinda sang out the ending to their duet and grinned at the man stepping into the elevator. Kurt Hummel was a fixture here. Every Wednesday, come snow, or sleet, or garbage strikes, the same suite was reserved under his name. Check-in was officially 3 pm but his suite was always ready whenever he was. He breezed in every week anytime between noon and two, with not much that could be considered luggage. He almost never stayed the night, a fact which the staff discretely ignored. He had a friendly, easy way about him and was a more than generous tipper. Kurt Hummel was Kalinda's definition of a gentleman and she only wished more of their guests were like him.

Exiting the elevator, Kurt paced down the hallway to his left and slid his card into the door at the end of the corridor. The hotel called this set of two rooms, a living room leading into a bedroom with an en suite washroom, a junior suite. Kurt called it his office.

Folding his garment bag carefully over the back of the couch, he pulled out his phone. Swiping through the screens, he checked his email for any last-minute cancellations and scanned his schedule one final time. Tucking his Blackberry away, Kurt took the knapsack and garment bag into the en suite and began the process of transforming himself into the man his clients expected to see. Everyone who came to him was looking for something different so Kurt presented a different version of himself to each person who hired his expertise. Clients found him through the time honored tradition of someone who knew someone who had heard of Kurt or by stumbling across his website, _Flogger for Hire_. In either case, by the time anyone walked into this hotel room for the first time, Kurt knew exactly who they were and how he could help them.

It didn't take much, a quick change of clothes, the addition of black-framed eyeglasses and Kurt morphed into the authority figure that he knew his 2 PM appointment felt comfortable with. Stashing his backpack and garment bag in one of the bedroom closets, Kurt checked his watch as he walked into the living room. At the first soft rap, he crossed the carpet and opened the door. "Cynthia, how are you?"

"Not so good, Sir." Tossing her purse and laptop bag on the couch, she turned to Kurt and didn't quite succeed in her attempt at a smile. Shoulders tense, hands twisting at her sides, nervous energy fairly crackled in the air around her. Of course, she was always wound tight as a firecracker before her sessions.

Motioning to the bedroom with one hand, Kurt stepped back to allow Cynthia to precede him. "Please."

Her eyes on the floor, Cynthia gave him a stiff nod, and hurried into the next room. Stopping at the foot of the bed, she waited until Kurt sat and then folded herself across his lap.

Brushing her hair to one side, Kurt laid his hand on the nape of her neck, just under the collar of her shirt and waited for her to settle. He stroked one hand down her back, feeling the warmth of her skin seep through the thin veil of her shirt. He held his hand still, fingers gentle against the small of her back. "Ready?"

A deep breath, and a quick nod, the whisper of her hair sliding over the fine Egyptian cotton of the hotel duvet, were his answer. Kurt brought his hand up and then down with a snap. Heavy and hard, each fall of his hand exploded into the quiet of the room.

Cynthia had a severe case of "First Child Syndrome". She set impossibly high standards for herself and couldn't cope with the guilt and resultant stress of her own very human failures. Therapy was a painstakingly slow process that she had no faith in and no time for. A few minutes under Kurt's hand and she emerged cleansed of her own condemnation.

Unlike his other clients, spanking wasn't a dark erotic thrill for Cynthia. She didn't come to him looking for an ever stronger sensation to revive a jaded palate. She didn't chase pain into an endorphin rush. In short, pain didn't turn her on; it allowed her to like herself. Kurt was part confessor and part parent. He was God in Prada glasses.

The spanking was professional; precise, controlled and painful. Cynthia wasn't looking for arousal, she was looking for punishment and Kurt gave it to her. He listened to her sobs and watched her body language. Over the time they had worked together, Kurt had learned to read the pain-filled gasps, the tremors and twitches, and smothered, silent cries. He could negotiate the fine line between enough and too much.

When Cynthia reached that always fluctuating level of hurt that allowed her to forgive herself, Kurt smoothed his hand in comforting sweeps across her shoulders. Seconds ticked by marked only by tear-clogged gasps as she tried to gather the energy to move.

Kurt traced gentle fingers through her hair. "Hey, sweetheart, how you doing?"

"How do you think I'm doing?" Pressing one arm into the mattress, Cynthia pushed up from the bed. "That fucking hurts!"

Kurt helped her off his lap, keeping one arm around her waist until she settled comfortably, or as comfortably as was possible considering a certain expected tenderness, beside him. Tucking one finger under her chin, he tipped her head up, forcing eye contact. "That fucking hurts, Sir."

He insisted on her use of the honorific because that one small word, 'Sir', was the pivotal component in the mind game they played together. The word was a symbol for the power she gave him, the power to punish and to forgive.

The tears still drying on her face, Cynthia grinned at him. "That fucking hurts, Sir."

It never failed to astound him, how relaxed and carefree Cynthia was after a session. She had tried to explain it to him once, the feeling of freedom, of lightness, of being released from a crushing weight. She said she felt clean and new and full of hope. Whenever he doubted the rightness of his 'part-time job', and he had spent more than a few sleepless nights debating the question with himself, he remembered Cynthia like this, happy, at peace with herself, and he felt better about his choices. Unorthodox, certainly, 'Discipline Specialist' wasn't exactly one of the career choices his high school guidance counsellor, Emma Pillsbury, had recommended. Of course, he had never followed any of her recommendations anyway.

Smiling at the woman beaming happy into the room, Kurt stood and poured a glass of ice water from the carafe on the bedside table and handed it to Cynthia.

"Thanks." Dipping her head to drink, Cynthia flashed Kurt a look from under her eyelashes. "Sir."

"You're welcome." Laughter lighting his crystal eyes, Kurt smiled as he stepped into the en suite. Running the hot water, he soaked a facecloth in the sink and wrung it out. Returning to Cynthia, he took the now empty drinking glass and set it on the night table. Sitting beside her, an arm around her shoulders, he wiped her face with the hot cloth, patting away all traces of her recent tears. She curled into Kurt, submissive under his care, his approval seeping into the parched desert of her need.

Over the years, as Kurt became more experienced and established in this rather niche business, his session fee had risen dramatically, but not for this woman. His first client, Cynthia still paid his original fee because she had been there when he wasn't sure he could even do this. Kurt had been her safe place, her confidant and confessor, and he still was. She paid him the compliment of crediting him for her growing ability to defeat her demons. She needed him rarely now, calling him only when life got particularly stressful.

Putting the washcloth on the night table, Kurt extended his hand to help Cynthia to her feet. "Green tea?"

Standing, Cynthia glanced at her wrist watch and smiled up at Kurt. "Please. Kick me out at three though, it's my carpool day. I have to pick Lauren and co. up after ballet."

Kurt picked up the phone and dialed room service. "Hi, this is room 837. Send up my order now, please." Kurt used his room number not his name because his clients did not know his real name, none of them, not even Cynthia. Kurt put certain safeguards in place to protect himself. Payments were delivered by electronic deposit to a corporate account discretely listed as FFH Ltd. Clients reached him by email, and met him here, in this hotel suite. They did not know his name or anything about his life outside of this hotel room. They called him "Sir" or "Master", titles which helped them to slip into a submissive mind space and helped Kurt to remember that this was just a job. No matter how close he felt to any client, and the very nature of what they did together often created an intense connection, Kurt remained aware that these people were not friends, not lovers. No matter how well he knew his clients, they did not know him. They could not know him because Kurt kept this neat and clean and separate from his real life.

Smiling, he replaced the receiver and guided Cynthia back into the small living room. "Fill me in. What's been happening with you?"

Cynthia curled into the arm chair next to the sofa. Years of experience making her automatically tuck her legs under her, resting her body weight on her knees and not her still throbbing backside. "Well, I'm up for tenure."

"Congratulations!" Kurt settled into the sofa opposite Cynthia's arm chair.

"Thank you, but it's not a sure thing. There's only one position open and I'm not the only candidate." She shook her head, setting the honey-coloured strands dancing across her shoulders. "I was doing okay with it, excited even…" She grimaced, "and then my mother-in-law came for an extended visit…" She shot Kurt an indignant look, "and my husband decided to go out of town on business, and the dog hates her and she makes the kids nuts." She blew out an exasperated breath. "Work is a political quagmire and then I come home to a thousand minor catastrophes…" She leaned out of her chair and stretched out a hand to Kurt. "I'm sorry for the emergency email. Thank you for fitting me in."

Kurt squeezed her hand before giving it back to her. "You know I'm always here for you. Besides, believe it or not," Kurt grinned, his crystal eyes lit with laughter, "none of my other clients need the pre-carpool time slot."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Kinks-R-Us**

Tugging the zipper on the black leather vest all the way closed, Kurt rifled through his backpack pulling out two leather cuffs. Snapping the black cuffs around his wrists, he moved to the full length mirror. At twenty-nine Kurt's body had changed since high school. His shoulders were a little wider, his chest deeper, the muscles in his arms more defined. He'd grown two inches in his freshman year at college and been bludgeoned into a gym habit by a boyfriend in grad school. The boyfriend hadn't lasted but the exercise routine had. His face said man now, and not boy: the cheek bones and jaw more pronounced, the crystal eyes just as breath-taking but more confident, sure. In the decade since McKinley, the pretty boy had become a stunning man.

Hands covered in oil paint, or fingers dusted with charcoal, Kurt didn't spend a lot of time thinking about how he looked. He spent most of his days slapping paint on canvas, and networking with other hopeful artists, everyone trying to find a gallery willing to showcase their art. Unlike most of his friends from grad school however, Kurt wasn't a 'starving artist'. He wasn't any kind of starving. He had money in the bank, a tiny loft in a renovated walk-up in the meat-packing district, all the jeans and hoodies and paint supplies he needed. He bought theatre tickets, took vacations with friends and lovers, and regularly flew home to see his family. He could afford all this thanks to a wine-infused, weed-influenced, wee-hours-of-the-morning tete-a-tete with a classmate.

_Shannon took a pull on her reefer, eyes closing as she inhaled. Handing the joint to Kurt, she leaned in. "You really want to know?"_

_Eyes locked on the black-lined ones of the student he had just met, Kurt nodded, reefer forgotten in his fingers. "Yes."_

_Shaking her head, green eyes amused, Shannon put her hand under Kurt's, pushing up, reminding him of the thin coil of paper in his hand. Taking a quick toke, Kurt handed the smoke back. "Talk."_

_Holding her joint between thumb and finger, Shannon considered the guy sitting on the floor beside her. She needed to tell someone, but was Kurt that someone? Looking into the crystal eyes, bright even in the dim of the street lights snaking in under the blinds on the frat house windows, she wondered what he'd think. Could this guy from some mid-west hick town deal with her truth? Considering what she'd already told him… and what the fuck was up with that? Since when did she dump all over some stranger? _

_Kurt reached over, took the joint from her hand, crushed it out next to the others in the empty take-out container/ash tray sitting between them, and bumped his shoulder into hers. "Talk."_

_Okay, since now. "I hire myself out," Shannon placed emphasis on her next words, drawing them out significantly, "by the hour."_

_Kurt's mouth formed a circle of surprise as his eyes got even larger, his words a whisper. "You're a prostitute?"_

_Shannon giggled, shaking her head in denial. "Nope, try again."_

_Eyes narrowed in concentration, using "by the hour" as his jumping off point, Kurt considered various possibilities. "Lawyer, life coach, therapist?"_

"_Close, I like to think that I help people." Looking around the room, she made sure that none of the other students sprawled over the couches and pillows were paying any attention to them. "I'm a dominatrix." _

_Reaching for his wine blindly, Kurt fumbled the glass to his lips and took a sip. "You're messing with me."_

"_No. I'm not." Shannon opened her bag and took out another joint. Lighting it, she pointed it at Kurt. "It's fast, it's easy and it pays my tuition. You could do it too. There are a ton of guys out there who would pay to have you tell them what to do."_

_Kurt cracked up, snorting with laughter. "Right! _ _Like anyone is going to bend over for me." Kurt swirled a hand in front of his face. "Does this look threatening to you?"_

_"What you have to remember, Kurt is that these people want to obey to you."_

A half-smile flickered briefly and was gone as Kurt examined himself in the mirror and nodded in satisfaction. The black leather pants, soft and worn, hugged his thighs and butt, and not so discretely, highlighted his package. The zipper on the vest was off-centre, and extended into a high collar that brushed his chin. Except for the leather at his wrists, his arms were bare, the pale skin stark against all the black. He debated the addition of a mask, which would focus attention on his eyes but decided against it. This wasn't about him. It wasn't about the clothes. It was about attitude and expectations. It was about giving his people what they needed.

Mark, his next client, was a submissive and a total leather junkie. He could probably get off just kneeling at his feet and nuzzling into his crotch, inhaling the scent of soft leather and body heat. Selecting a few toys, Kurt set them out on the night stand by the bed, and stashed his backpack away. Giving the room a quick once over, making sure that everything was ready, all signs of Cynthia gone, Kurt headed into the sitting room. Mark would be on time, he always was. Subs didn't keep a Dom waiting.

Opening the door at the first soft rap, Kurt nodded at the man standing on the threshold. "Mark."

Hands clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly down, Mark peeked up at Kurt from under his eyelashes and flashed a quick smile before dropping his eyes to the floor. "Master."

Back when he was new at this, Kurt had to struggle to stifle the laughter that threatened whenever a client called him Master. Now, after almost five years, the title barely registered. Personally, he preferred to be addressed as Sir, but Mark was a nice guy and one of his regulars, so Mark got to call him Master. Standing aside, Kurt gestured for Mark to enter, and closed the door with a soft snick of the lock. Leather boots soundless on the thick carpet, Kurt crossed the room to stand in front of his patiently waiting Sub.

Unlike Cynthia, who came to him tense and knotted with guilt and nerves, dreading every session. Mark was relaxed, eager for whatever Kurt decided to give him. With his spine straight, shoulders back, and hands behind his back, he stood in the perfect Sub version of what the military called parade rest. At 6'2", Mark stood four inches taller than Kurt, and he was heavily muscled, easily outweighing Kurt by 40 or 50 lbs. His business suit was expensive, Hugo Boss if Kurt wasn't mistaken, and he wasn't. His tie was silk, the subtle pattern signaling success and authority. In his early forties, he was close to fifteen years Kurt's senior, but none of that mattered, not here. "Strip."

Quick to obey, Mark was fast. He unbuttoned, unzipped and peeled his clothes off in a flurry of action. Fast, but neat, because he knew Kurt demanded neat. Clothes folded on the couch beside him, he slipped back into parade rest. Kurt circled him and leaned in, grabbing Mark's clasped wrists and pulling them up, stretching his arms out to their limit. He watched as Mark tipped forward slightly, trying to keep his balance. "Keeping your hands behind you can be tiring, can't it? I can help you with that." Kurt smiled as leaned over Mark's shoulder. "Would you like that?"

The zipper on Kurt's vest rasped over Mark's skin making him tremble with anticipation. "Yes, Master, please."

Kurt stepped back, smiling to himself as he followed Mark into the bedroom. The man really loved his bondage!

Snatching the roll of bondage tape from the night stand, Mark handed it to Kurt and started to turn, his hands already behind his back.

"Forget something?" Kurt's question halted Mark mid-turn. He looked at Kurt's hands holding the tape and then up at his face, noting the raised eyebrows and the crystal eyes watching him expectantly. Understanding flashed in his eyes and he snapped up the Curb Tip Scissors. Kneeling before Kurt, he raised his hands, scissors laid across his open palms as he presented them to Kurt. "Sorry, Master, I won't forget again."

Taking the scissors, Kurt motioned to Mark to stand. "Lucky for you, I like your enthusiasm." It was true. Mark's enthusiasm, his sheer joy in his submission made working with him a pleasure. Cutting off a length of tape, Kurt nodded and Mark turned. Kurt bound his wrists and checked that the tape wasn't too tight. He had learned various rope techniques; wrapping, weaving, decorative patterns, but unless a client specifically asked for them, he preferred to use tape. It was faster, and at the rates he was charging he didn't think it was fair to waste a lot of time on rigging. Satisfied that the tape wasn't cutting off Mark's circulation, he checked that the scissors were within easy reach. He needed to be sure that if the unlikely happened and he had to get Mark out of his bondage quickly, he could do so. This little sideline of his had already stretched his conscience to a pale wisp of the concrete wall of right and wrong that it used to be. It wouldn't survive one of his clients being seriously injured, so he played safe, always.

Running one finger down the middle of Mark's back, Kurt smiled as the man's breath hitched. "It's a little bright in here, isn't it?" The words were formed as a question but they were actually a taste, a hint of what was coming next. Signed consent forms and explicit, written, hard limits aside, Kurt didn't believe in springing surprises on his clients.

"Yes, Master, very bright." Mark didn't even try to keep the smile out of his voice.

Kurt slipped a leather blindfold over Mark's eyes, securing the straps behind his head, careful not to catch his hair on the Velcro patches. Picking up the leather slapper from the night table, Kurt slid it through his hands as he walked around the bound man.

Mark, as Kurt intended him to, heard the slide of leather on skin and knew what Kurt held in his hand. He inhaled sharply, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips, blood surging to his groin.

Kurt teased the man before him, slapping the short strip of leather against his own palm. The slapper was a favourite of Kurt's, it was easy to use and it fit in his backpack. It was perfect for Mark, because it delivered a light spanking, all sensation, no pain. Mark wasn't into pain, he was into submission, and leather, and taking a break from his real life by handing control over to someone else.

Reaching out, Kurt crisscrossed Mark's chest with the leather slapper, a slow, gradual slide down over his abs ending in a soft drag over his cock. "I see you came prepared." Kurt circled the slapper around Mark's scrotum, tracing over the leather cock ring that Mark had pressed himself into. "Very nice, I'll have to reward you."

The tightness around his wrists, the unrelenting darkness that enhanced the scent of leather, the gentle stroke of the slapper over his balls; the combined sensations had Mark hovering over that perfect place, that beckoning haven of peace and freedom. Kurt's praise sparked lightning over his skin and Mark dived head first into rapture.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Pain or Pleasure?**

Kurt dropped a handful of shrimp over the noodles in the plastic container in his hand, and flipped the lid shut. Standing in line at the cash, he could see that the balding man sitting on a stool in front of the register was still as grim-faced as ever. Kurt was in here almost every Wednesday, walking around the island of take-out food, choosing his dinner. It had become a personal challenge, a little game Kurt played with himself, trying to get a reaction out of this guy. Exchanging cash for a napkin and disposable chopsticks in a paper sleeve, Kurt flashed his widest smile. "I'm glad you've got the shrimp tonight. It's my favourite." Not even a grunt, the guy just stared at him before turning to the next customer in line. _Okay, fine. I'll get you next time._

Two bites in, before his green tea even had a chance to cool; his phone trembled on the plastic table cloth. Swiping through to his text messages, he rolled his eyes as he read.

**Rachel (mobile): Where R U ?!**

**Kurt (mobile): Having dinner. Y? **

**Rachel (mobile): Call me!**

Wrestling the plastic cover off his recyclable paper cup, Kurt blew on his tea before taking a careful sip. Settling back in the not-very-comfortable metal chair, tea in one hand, phone in the other, he opened his contact list. Rachel was her own amusement ride, up one minute, down the next. She was the only one he knew who could make a text manifest hysteria. Kurt wasn't particularly worried though, he had learned years ago that Rachel's definition of emergency was notoriously elastic. Taking another sip of tea, he hit call.

Phone in hand, Rachel paced the hallway between the kitchen and the family room. _Oh, God! Kurt was going to kill her! _ The twins were in front of the TV with mac-n-cheese. Okay, okay, it wasn't the healthiest dinner in the world but it was the nanny's day off and she had to be at the theatre in an hour. She thumbed the call open before the first ring had ever finished. "Hello!"

"What's the problem, Rach?"

"Kurt, you're not busy this Saturday, are you?" The words rushed out in one waterfall of sound, as if Rachel was talking against the clock and every second counted.

"Why? You need me to babysit?" Lucky for Rachel, her kids were cute.

"Not… exactly." The works were hesitant, almost stuttered as Rachel took a deep breath.

Kurt sat up, fingers tightening around his phone. "What did you do?"

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could hide from herself. "I said you would sing at the kids' school for a charity benefit on Saturday afternoon." She cringed, drawing her shoulders in tight, waiting for his reaction.

"What? Right!" Kurt almost laughed, but no, this wasn't a joke. The nervous and the pleading in Rachel's voice, told him she was serious. Shit! She had actually volunteered him to… he hadn't sung in public since NYADA, since… "Goodbye, Rachel." Kurt lowered the phone preparing to thumb the call closed but he could hear Rachel crying at him.

"Kurt! Please, don't hang up!"

"I'm really going to have to talk to that husband of yours. Obviously, you need a keeper."

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. She could convince him, as long as he was still talking to her, she could convince him. "It's just two songs, Kurt. I'll help you rehearse. You can do this, a few hundred people, just parents and kids from the school. Come on, you can do this in your sleep."

"You know, I can't help wondering…" Kurt's voice was calm, very calm, too calm. "This is your kids' school and you're the big Broadway star, so why aren't you singing on Saturday?"

Rachel flopped down on the nearest kitchen chair. She had been hoping he wouldn't ask that question, so hoping… "Okay, yes, I was supposed to do it. I arranged it with my understudy weeks ago. But my director just called and Stacey got an offer to take the lead in a Chicago play and she's leaving Friday. Kurt, I have to be at the theatre, you know that." Silence. Silence was good. Silence wasn't no. Rachel waited, afraid to say anything else. _If Kurt said no, her kids would never forgive her!_

"So, let me guess. You told the kids that Mommy couldn't do it but Uncle Kurt could?"

Rachel walked out of the kitchen as Kurt's annoyed sarcasm blasted through the phone at her ear, and stood in the doorway to the family room smiling at the two dark-haired moppets laughing at Elmo. Turning, not wanting the kids to hear her, she crept down the hallway, whispering until she reached the kitchen. "I had to, Kurt! I couldn't let my kids be the only ones there without family."

That's what saved her, that's what kept Kurt from taking the subway to her high-priced, doorman-guarded upper west side condo and yanking her hair out by the roots. She considered him family and her kids lived in a piece of his heart. Fuck! "You owe me for the rest of your life, Berry."

Crossing the hotel lobby after dinner, Kurt plunked a white Chinese take-out box tied with a red ribbon on the counter at reception. "Fortune cookies, maybe they'll bring you luck."

"Mr. Hummel! You didn't have to do that, sir." Kalinda beamed up at Kurt as she tucked the box behind her computer screen. "Thank you."

Kurt grinned as he walked toward the elevators. "Someone is going to win…"

"So why shouldn't it be me!" Kalinda was still smiling as Kurt disappeared into the elevator.

Slipping his key card into the back pocket of his jeans, Kurt headed for the _en suite _washroom and his toothbrush. After Mark had left, Kurt had stripped out of the leather, hit the shower, and headed out for dinner. Now, he brushed and rinsed and gargled. His next client didn't have to smell Kung Pao shrimp and Schezwan noodles on his breath, not polite and definitely not professional. Grabbing his iPad, Kurt settled into the couch in the sitting room. Opening Sketchbook Pro, he stared at the unfinished outline whispering to him from the screen. In seconds he was lost.

An hour and a half later, his phone blared out a jarringly unpleasant call from the real world, dragging him out of his creative trance. Closing the program down with a sigh, he stashed his iPad away and got ready for his next and last client of the day. He laid a flogger with soft suede tails and a fierce leather crop on the bed, checked that the staff had refilled the ice bucket and delivered the robe Jason would need. He filled the carafe with water, set the Arnica spray on the tray beside the ice bucket and tossed two tethers over the top of the washroom door. Closing the door, he pulled on the tethers, yes, solid. Satisfied, he tossed the nylon wrist restraints on the bed, and left the room.

"Hey, Gorgeous." A young man stood on the threshold wearing a loose, cotton, long-sleeved T-shirt that couldn't seem to decide whether it was supposed to be tucked inside or fall out over the waist band of the deconstructed, dark-washed, jeans that hung low on his hips. Looking younger than his actual age of twenty-four, his smile lit up his face as he leaned in for a hug. "How you doing?"

Returning the hug, Kurt ruffled the other man's hair as he stood aside for him to enter. "Good, Incorrigible, I'm good."

Not for Jason the standard terms of respect that came so easily to his other clients. He was totally incapable of uttering words like "Sir" or God forbid, "Master" with anything even close to the requisite dignity the titles deserved. He had tried, but his irreverent attitude made the rather rigid protocol at BDSM clubs a bad fit for him. The management at the last club he had applied to was sympathetic but still adamant in their refusal of his application. As one Dom put it, "We like you, we'd love to have you here, but we can't. You mess with everyone's mindset. I'm sorry."

Jason was a pain slut, pure and simple. Pain could take him higher, faster than anything else. He wanted it, he needed it, and finding someone to give it to him without insisting on a submission that he just could not manufacture had brought him to Kurt's door. He was much younger than any of Kurt's other clients, younger than Kurt himself by five years. Kurt had no idea how Jason could afford his rather substantial fee and it wasn't his business to ask. He could be a dot com millionaire, some white-collar criminal genius, or a trust fund kid. However he got his money, it landed in Kurt's PayPal account on time without fail and that's really all Kurt had to know.

The young man flashed a smile, all perfect white teeth and sparkling green eyes. "Good, then we can grab a drink when you're done tanning my hide." Jason wanted more from Kurt than his money could buy and he made no secret of that fact. He felt exactly the same punch to his heart now as he had the first time Kurt had opened this hotel door to him. Kurt was beautiful, his eyes were spectacular and Jason would say or do anything to make him smile. Over the six months since his first appointment, Jason had learned precisely nothing about Kurt. The man was an enigma, keeping himself, his real self, behind walls of friendly, caring interest. Jason wanted the Kurt behind the Dom. He wanted this man in his life, in his house, at dinner with his parents. He wanted to curl up and watch TV with this man and see his face first thing in the morning. He wanted to buy a fucking dog with him! Yes, he had it bad.

Kurt laughed. "Like you're going drinking after this! You know these sessions melt you into the ground. You're going to go home and crawl into bed."

"Come with me?" Kurt crawling into bed with him was a recurring dream and at the top of Jason's Christmas Wish list.

"Nice try." Shaking his head even as a smile curved his lips, Kurt motioned to the bedroom. "You ready?"

Reaching up, pulling his T-shirt over his head, Jason grinned at Kurt. "Always."

Following the young man into the bedroom, Kurt smothered an answering grin. Jason was an irrepressible jolt of energy, the kid made him laugh. He made him curious and that Kurt couldn't allow. He would take care of Jason, but he would not care about him. Jason was not part of his real life and he never would be. Kurt had no intention of letting his two separate worlds collide. Clients like Jason paid his rent and kept him in paints, and when he could support himself with his art, he would walk away from this, from Jason, and never look back.

Wrapping Jason's wrists in the nylon restraints, Kurt checked the fit and nodded to the younger man. "You're good."

Tossing a flirtatious smile over his shoulder, Jason stepped over to the _en suite_ door and the tethers hanging there. "About time you noticed."

Kurt's only response was a quick swat to Jason's ass before he hooked the man's wrists to the tethers, stretching his arms high above his head. Jason turned his head, his cheek pressing into the door, as Kurt checked the whole rig, the tethers and the restraints, one last time. He leaned into the door, humming his pleasure as Kurt settled his hands on Jason's shoulders and dug his thumbs in, massaging down the young man's back and working his way up again. When Jason's muscles loosened, Kurt stepped back and picked up the flogger. With an easy swing, he set the suede tails down in a precise pattern, following the same path his fingers had taken.

"Dude, I can take it. You don't have to baby me." Jason was impatient now, eager to reach that high, that endorphin rush, the euphoria of subspace.

Kurt continued the warm-up, undeterred by the exasperation in the younger man's tone. "I know you're all kinds of macho, a regular Jason Mamoa**,** but humour me, okay?" Kurt leaned in and kissed Jason's shoulder. "Trust me. I'll get you there."

Relaxing in his restraints, Jason breathed his agreement out in a soft sigh against the wood of the _en suite_ door. "I know you will."

Time didn't exist as Kurt and Jason swayed together in a dance of pain and pleasure. Jason had no idea how much time had passed before he felt Kurt's hands at his wrists, unwrapping the restraints. He let the door support him until Kurt bundled him into a robe. Sitting on the bed, trembling as he came down from his high, Jason snuggled into Kurt, lifting his head when Kurt set a glass at his lips. Drinking the water down, he dropped his head on Kurt's shoulder and snaked an arm around the other man's waist, his fingers gentle on Kurt's skin. Strapped to the door as he had been, Jason had not seen Kurt remove his button-down, but he suspected it had to have been sometime between the flogger and the crop. Kurt's skin was hot, moist with sweat, and Jason wished he had the energy to smile. It had been quite the work-out, for both of them.

With other ProDoms, Jason had been up and gone as soon as he could get his legs to work. He had been after the high and only the high. With Kurt he had learned to love this quiet time, their arms around each other, Kurt's lips at his ear, singing sotto voce. He would love to know what Kurt sounded like when he wasn't almost whispering. He'd love to hear that lilting voice when it was full force, just the thought of that voice pouring out of a microphone sent shivers down his spine.

"You okay?" Feeling the shiver, Kurt tightened his hold on the younger man.

"Yeah." Jason nodded, his hair tickling under Kurt's chin. "What song is that?"

"Hmmm?" Kurt shrugged. "Just something from years ago." Shifting out from under Jason, he urged the other man down, onto his stomach. Brushing the robe down to Jason's hips, Kurt wrapped some ice in a face cloth and applied it to his back. Moving the ice, covering the flushed skin, Kurt continued singing as he checked Jason for any cuts or scrapes. He was good, careful, but perfection was an ideal. Putting the ice aside, he picked up the Arnica can and shook it before coating Jason's back with the healing spray. "Don't move, let that sink in." Sitting back against the headboard, Kurt ghosted his fingers across Jason's cheek.

Jason leaned into Kurt's hand, lips lingering, tongue licking at Kurt's skin, tickling across his palm. Laughing, Kurt pulled his hand away and pushed it through Jason's hair. "I said, 'Don't move'."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Collision**

Kurt didn't rehearse with Rachel or even talk to her about his song selections. He ignored the ostensibly helpful texts and increasingly vehement voice mails, because yanking Rachel's chain was one habit that he had no intention of ever outgrowing. Expecting one, or more likely both, twins to answer his knock, Kurt looked down as the door swung open and found not two pair of excited eyes but one pair of muscular thighs encased in dark denim. Looking up, past belt buckle, taut stomach and wide shoulders, he found the face that was the blueprint for the twins' features. "Noah! What are you doing here?"

Grinning, Puck moved aside as Kurt stepped into the black and white tiled foyer. "Just got back last night."

Kurt pulled Puck into a tight hug. "Rachel didn't tell me!"

Puck wrapped his arms around Kurt and pummeled his back, releasing him with the old, bad-boy glint in his eyes. "_Late_ last night, she was _busy_!"

Kurt pretended ignorance, even as his crystal eyes lit with laughter. "I have absolutely no idea what you mean and," Kurt put his hand out to stop Noah from providing an explanation, "I don't want to know!"

"Right!" Puck tuned his head and called down the hallway. "Guys, Kurt's here, let's go."

Short legs pumping, bumping into each other as they careened down the hallway, voices raised in excitement, the boys tried to beat each other to their uncle. "What are you going to sing?" Reid skidded into Kurt's right leg, while his brother, Ryan, grabbed his left hand. "Can you do the one from Sesame Street?"

Squatting down, an arm around each small waist, Kurt smiled at the boys. "Your Dad's home now, he can sing. I'll sit with you guys in the audience."

"No," Reid shook his head, dark hair falling over his eyes, "Dad's going to play his guitar and you're going to sing."

Ryan nodded, and continued where his brother left off. "There are two of us, so we get to have two people on stage."

Kurt looked up at Puck and got a smile and a shrug. Because he had missed huge junks of Beth's childhood, and despite spending a fair amount of time in airports, Puck was a very involved parent. Rachel complained that he never said "No" to the boys making her the bad guy by default, but together they were obviously doing something right because the boys were, in Kurt's opinion, perfectly brilliant. Looking into two sets of expectant eyes, Kurt nodded slowly, pretending to consider their suggestion. "Yeah, that sounds fair." Standing, a hand on each of the boys' shoulders, Kurt teased Puck. "I don't know, do you think your Dad can keep up with me."

Traffic being what it was in Manhattan, they elected to walk to the kids' school, cutting through Central Park, skirting the dog-walkers and runners. After Finn's death, in some strange sort of personal tribute, Puck had enlisted in the Air Force. In an environment that demanded his personal best, Puck had excelled. It took him a few extra years, but with the G.I. Tuition Assistance program and a lot of hard work he had gotten his degree. Now, as an IT consultant for the military, Puck did a fair bit of travelling. It turned out that his talent with numbers could be used for more than just playing poker.

No one had expected Puck and Rachel to get together, least of all, Puck and Rachel. Finn's death had left a large hole in all of their lives, and Puck had taken to dropping in on Kurt and Rachel whenever he was in New York. The two had started out bonding over Finn and slowly, over time, found more to appreciate in each other than Finn's memory. Watching Puck now, picking one little boy up after the other, holding them high so they could pet the carriage horses waiting in line along Central Park South, Kurt saw no resemblance to the defensive teen who used to hide behind a major case of attitude. Thinking about his own life, Kurt smiled to himself. _Noah wasn't the only one who had changed a lot since high school!_

* * *

What had once been a private home back before the First World War now housed the toddler set among the bright and brilliant of the Upper West Side. The entire third floor, originally the ballroom, was outfitted with mirrors, ballet bars and gym equipment. Winding his way through rows of wooden stacking chairs that looked to be as ancient as the building itself, Jason followed his sister and niece to three empty seats on the right side of the room. Jason and his sister, Melissa were prime examples of artistic incompetence, so his brother-in-law was representing the family on stage. Michael had protested bitterly but even he knew that daughter trumped golf. Jason was here to support his niece and the school and to watch Michael make a fool of himself. As two teachers man-handled an old upright on clacking wheels to the front of the room, Jason sat back and prepared to enjoy himself.

Holy_ Fuck!_ Jason choked on the mint he had just popped into his mouth, eyes watering as he struggled to breathe. "You okay?" He gave his sister, Melissa, an impatient nod and she turned back to the chalked off area purporting to be a stage. His niece, however, wasn't so easily convinced. She continued pounding on his back until he managed to drag enough air into his lungs to talk. "Okay, I'm good. Thanks." Leaning forward in his seat, he craned his neck to one side, trying to get a better view. He was vaguely aware that there were two men within the chalk perimeter, but he only really saw one. _It's him! Holy fucking shit, it's him! _A freight train hammered out of his chest and firecrackers exploded in his brain as disbelief tumbled over shock and erupted into _Oh, My, God!_ Jason turned towards his sister, words already dancing along his vocal cords, sliding towards his lips. _That's him! That's the guy who…._ Biting his lip, Jason kept the words buried inside. _That's the guy I want to bring to Christmas dinner, the guy I want to fall asleep with, the guy I want to fuck until the world ends. _Fuck! He didn't even know his name! Jason dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from throwing himself at the man standing in front of the finger-painted backdrop. The man's amplified voice, as perfect as Jason knew it would be, seeped under his skin, calling him, calming him. Focusing on that one man, inhaling every sweep of eyelash, tilt of head and slide of hip, Jason smiled so wide, his face actually hurt. _I__t's him!_

Jason wasn't the only one paying more attention to the man than the song. Sitting in the back row of the small gym, a second pair of eyes followed Kurt's every gesture. In the more than ten years since he had last heard Kurt sing, the voice, like the man himself, had changed. Kurt was still a clear, lilting tenor but there was a rich, dark quality to his voice now that stroked the senses. At least, it stroked his senses, but then Kurt's voice had always made things inside him clench and throb, whether he was singing or not. Unlike Kurt, Rachel, Santana, and then Blaine and Artie, and eventually Puck, he had not headed to New York after graduation. He had taken the first plane west, needing distance, needing gone, needing to forget waking up in a hospital with rope burns around his neck and bruises on his throat. Puck had tracked him down a few times when he was in California on business, and Santana had kept tabs on him through LinkedIn. He, himself, had made no effort to keep in touch with anyone from McKinley and yet, somehow, here he was listening to Kurt Hummel sing. The years rolled away and for the length of a song, he was that boy again, watching and wanting.

* * *

"Mr. Puckerman, your wife said to ask you." With a totally unsympathetic grin, Kurt abandoned Puck to a diatribe from the school's principal on the benefits of instituting a school uniform. Pouring himself a cup of coffee from an ancient metal contraption on a shaky wooden trestle table, he watched Ryan and Reid chase each other around one of the red circles painted on the gym floor. One sip and an involuntary shudder of distaste had him re-thinking the coffee idea. Tipping the paper cup into the nearest waste basket, he turned to find a man standing quietly, head cocked slightly to one side, smiling at him. Kurt hadn't seen that smile in years but he knew it instantly. Without even thinking about it, he was holding onto broad shoulders, grinning like a crazy man. "Dave! Dave Karofsky!"

In the old days, a greeting like that would have had Karofsky looking around in fear, wondering who had seen and who they would tell. Now, Dave gathered Kurt close the way he had always wanted to. Kurt was still talking, his breath brushing Dave's ear. Arousal spiked instantly, tendrils of fire melting his spine, and he welcomed it. In the years since McKinley, Dave had found friends and lovers, and one long-term partner, but nothing and no one had ever made him feel like this.

"…are you doing here?" Kurt stepped back, crystal eyes scanning Dave, subconsciously mapping the differences between this David Karofsky and the one he remembered. He noted and approved the new confidence behind the old shy smile, the absolute lack of tension. This man was comfortable with himself and it showed.

"I texted Puck this morning, telling him I was in town and…" Dave shrugged. "He said to meet him here."

"Does Santana know you're here? How long are you staying?"

* * *

Jason stood with his sister and niece, oblivious to anything but the man across the room. _What are you waiting for? Go over there. No, he won't want to see me, not here. You wanted to know him, right? Well, here's your chance. _True, this was his chance. This might be his only chance. That thought had him moving, threading between chatting groups of people, closing in on the man he never took his eyes off.

"…six months, maybe a year." Dave shrugged. "Depends on how fast we can get the project up and running. What about you? When can I hang an original Kurt Hummel on my walls?"

Kurt laughed. "Anytime you want. I've got a studio full of paintings no one wants."

"Hey, Gorgeous." Jason leaned in for a hug and on reflex, Kurt's arms wrapped around him. Stepping back, Jason smiled at both men. "I'm here with my niece, what's your excuse?" He didn't think it was possible for this man to get any paler but, apparently, he was wrong. Trying to shake him out of his 'Casper the Statue' trance, Jason smacked at his arm. "You never told me you could sing!"

"Jason!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Chance**

* * *

**Author's Note: I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to leave me a review and I respond to every one of them. The only exceptions are guest reviews. I don't respond to them because I can't, without a user name there is nowhere to direct the response. To the guest who left a review to Chapter 4, if you're still following this story, thank you for pointing out a missing link between scenes. I have rewritten that paragraph and inserted lines to signal a scene change.**

* * *

Kurt automatically pulled Jason in for a hug, the younger man's body fitting against his naturally, with the ease of familiarity. It was only as he stepped back and caught David's inquisitive stare that he realized how out of context this was. In the shocked stillness of his mind, an old Sesame Street lyric floated to the surface. _One of these things is not like the other_. _One of these things just doesn't belong_. Jason! Jason didn't belong here and he fucking knew it!

Kurt smiled and Jason wanted to duck. _Oh, shit! He's really pissed._ In all the hours they had spent locked in that hotel room together, experimenting and playing with pain, Jason had never once been afraid of this man, but he was fucking terrified now. The smile somehow made the anger in the storm cloud grey of his eyes even more intimidating. Jason took an involuntary step back, words of apology clogging in his throat.

_Oh, it's way too late to be sorry now, Jason._ "No?" Kurt's voice was as playful as his smile, but his eyes drilled holes through Jason's heart. "But then I don't tell you everything, do I?"

David didn't know what the fuck was going on between these two but he'd been on Kurt's shit list before and he knew what it felt like. Holding his hand out to the other man he introduced himself. "Hi, I'm David. Kurt and I went to the same high school."

_Kurt!_ Even though he knew he was in deep shit, Jason couldn't resist flashing a triumphant grin at _Kurt_, as he shook David's hand. Finally, after all these months, he had a name to go with face that haunted his dreams. "So you guys go way back." Jason carefully refrained from looking at Kurt as he lied through his teeth. "We met a few months ago. I bumped into Kurt in line at a Starbucks, I mean literally bumped into him, coffee everywhere. I offered to pay for his dry cleaning and bought him another coffee and here we are." Everyone went to Starbucks, right?

David waved a hand between Kurt and Jason. "You're together?" Of course, they were together. What the fuck did he think? That Kurt was just hanging out in New York waiting for David Karofsky to come along? His stomach felt hallow as he tried to plaster a smile in place, already mourning the fact that once again he had missed his chance with Kurt.

Locking eyes with Jason, Kurt said, "No", before turning to smile at David.

No other clarification, just no. While David wondered at the significance of that, what really twitched his curiosity meter was Jason's reaction. He didn't look happy about Kurt's denial but he didn't look surprised either. He lowered his eyes to the floor and moved slightly closer to Kurt, as if he was seeking reassurance. His body language practically screamed 'forgive me' and David couldn't help wondering what Kurt wasn't saying.

"Hey, Dave. You made it!" Puck, a child dangling from each hand, joined the three men. "Meet the boys. Reid, Ryan, this is my friend Dave. We went to school together."

Karofsky bent his knees, sinking down to kid level. "Your dad and I were on the football team."

Ryan ducked his head against Puck's thigh but Reid looked up at Kurt. "Did you play too, Uncle Kurt?"

Kurt burst out laughing but before he could deny it Karofsky answered for him. "Yes, your uncle was the best kicker we ever had." Still squatting down beside the twins, Karofsky looked up at the man whose simple existence had smashed through his teenaged concept of self. Kurt was shaking his head, still laughing and David wanted to crawl all over the man, licking at his lips, drinking that laughter down. Standing up and brushing at the knees of his casual khaki pants, David held Kurt's eyes and made no attempt at all to hide his thoughts.

Kurt thought about it, after all, it had been awhile since… His brows creased together as he did a rough calculation in his head. Shit, it had been a while. Between painting, trying to sell his paintings online, trying to get enough canvasses ready for an exhibit, trying to find a gallery willing to host an exhibit, okay, he was always working. He vaguely remembered hooking up about two months ago, and before that… he flashed on the sound of his front door slamming shut behind his last boyfriend. Reading the question in David's eyes, yeah, Kurt thought about it.

Jason was going to be sick. He was going to spew all over the big guy's shoes if he didn't stop eye-fucking Kurt. The worst part, of course, was that Kurt wasn't freezing the guy out. Jason could see that he was actually considering the big oaf. _No way, Davy boy, not in this life time!_

Speaking to the boys, Puck pointed at Kurt's boots. "He has really big feet so we made him the kicker."

Turning to look at the giggling boys, Karofsky caught Jason's jealous glare. _Not my fault, man. I asked and he said No, you weren't together._ Meeting Jason's eyes, David shrugged and moved his hands at his side, denying culpability. _Not my call._ David didn't know exactly what his face said to the other man, but Jason must have read something there because the heat seeped out of his eyes and his shoulders slumped as he visibly deflated.

Jason nodded and looked away. _Yeah, okay, this was Kurt's call, and crap, Kurt was still pissed at him. _ Jason may not have known Kurt's name until like five minutes ago but he knew the man and as much as Kurt was laughing with Puck and his sons and smiling at the big oaf, his body was a stiff wall of anger directed at Jason.

"I'm sorry." Puck finally noticed the guy standing beside Kurt. "Are you a friend of Dave's?"

Jason's "NO!" and Karofsky's emphatic head shake had Puck raising an eyebrow at Kurt. "Oh?"

_Oh, great! Just what he fucking needed, a curious Noah! _"This is Jason; his niece is at the school. Jason, Noah Puckerman and his sons, Reid and Ryan."

"Hey." Puck shook Jason's hand and turned to his friends. "Rachel's coming home for an early dinner before she heads back for the eight o'clock curtain. She's expecting to see you both at our place." He smiled at Jason. "It's nothing fancy but you're welcome to join us."

Puck wasn't the only one who noticed the swift glance Jason sent Kurt. Karofsky saw the look and almost snorted as his suspicions were confirmed. _Yeah, there's nothing between you two, right!_

Jason read the don't-even-think-about-it in Kurt's eyes and knew he couldn't gainsay that command. "Thanks, but I can't. My niece has big plans that involve about four different flavours of ice cream."

"Yeah, I know how that goes." Puck nodded at Jason as he stretched an arm out to the side, grabbing one of the boys before he could wander off. "Let's get out of here before someone wants me to write a cheque." A hand hovering behind each of his sons, Puck guided them through the groups of parents and teachers, heading for the door.

Karofsky glanced at Kurt but Kurt shook his head. "I'm going to say hello to Jason's sister. I'll meet you back at Noah's place."

For some reason, Kurt still calling Puck 'Noah' made Karofsky smile. "I'll tell him. Nice meeting you, Jason." With a nod to both men, David turned to follow Puck and his kids.

Kurt put his hand up, stopping Jason before he could say anything. Turning on his heel, he headed for a relatively quiet corner of the room. He knew without looking that Jason was right behind him. He had been so careful. He had kept his personal life a void to his clients. He had kept his two worlds apart for almost five years, until now. Finding a small oasis of empty space between a stack of yoga mats and a row of balancing balls, Kurt turned to confront the one person who knew too much.

"Don't bother emailing me for an appointment anymore, Jason. You are no longer a client."

"No!" The word burst forth, desperate and way too loud. Jason glanced behind him, checking to see if anyone had heard. Groups of stragglers headed towards the doors as the gym slowly emptied out. No one was paying any attention to them. Lowering his voice, Jason took a step closer to the man looking at him through eyes of grey slate, cold and hard. "Kurt, please, you don't have to do this. I won't tell anyone."

Jason standing there, calling him Kurt, using a name he wasn't supposed to know, was just all kinds of wrong. _This ends here. _Kurt nodded, his posture softening slightly. "No, I don't think you'd do that. It's not about that." Kurt's mouth lifted into a half smile. "It's not even about being pissed at you. It's… anonymity keeps my two worlds separate and now that you know," Kurt shrugged, "you've crossed the divide. You can't go back."

Jason didn't see a problem here. So he knew the man's real name and he'd met a few of his friends, so fucking what! "Why not?"

"Clients are not friends. They are not lovers. I do not let them into my life. Anonymity helps me to remember that. I need to keep a certain amount of distance."

Yeah, Jason knew that distance, it drove him fucking crazy.

Kurt held his hand out. "Goodbye, Jason."

Jason clasped Kurt's hand in his and didn't let go. "Okay, I accept that I can't go back." Jason stepped into Kurt, their clasped hands bridging the inches between them. "But, I can go forward, right? Let me into your real life, Kurt. Give me a chance, please."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Try**

Kurt didn't paint pretty landscapes. He didn't do photo-realism or realism of any kind, and he definitely didn't do portraits. He took everything that he was, all his emotions, all his experiences, and splashed them onto canvas. Some of his work was light, a lot of it was dark, but it was always, always explosive. The colours shouted or whispered, depending on what parts of himself Kurt fed into his brush. So far, the New York art world didn't exactly appreciate his style and judging by his dismal showing at the annual Art in the Park last summer, the general public wasn't all that keen on it either. The words "undisciplined amateur" that some stranger had muttered before walking past his paintings still made Kurt wince. Every brush stroke, every shade, and tone, and line; _was_ him. He couldn't change it even if he wanted to, and he didn't want to. He had learned long ago not to try and change who he was.

Back in Glee club, singing had been Kurt's first opportunity to show what he could do. He had loved it, all of it; the friends he made, the adrenaline of competitions, the sheer joy of the spotlight whenever he could steal it away from Rachel. He had come to New York and NYADA following the music until an elective course in his second year obliterated his old world and built a new one. Once he picked up a brush, singing someone else's words wasn't enough. Painting spoke to everything he was. It came naturally to him, not the technique, no, that was as difficult as learning any new skill. No, what came naturally was colour. Kurt experienced everything in terms of colour, the world around him, and even more, the world inside him. Emotions weren't nebulous concepts; they were tangible shades and tints of colour. He literally "saw" what he felt. Walking back to Puck and Rachel's place, Kurt saw orange, bright waves of it, dancing in his peripheral vision.

_What the fuck are you doing?_

_It's no big deal. _

_Oh, we're dating clients now? I didn't get that memo. _

_He's not a client. _

_Ex-client, as of like what, twenty minutes ago? _

Eyes on the sidewalk, Kurt walked along completely oblivious to the ever present noise of the city.

_What happened to walking away from it all without a backward glance?_

_Well, I'm not exactly hanging in MOMA, am I? _

_Oh, yeah, funny! How are you going to walk away from it all, ever, with Jason in your life? When Jason fucking needs it? Didn't think of that, did you?_

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Kurt scowled at the cement passing in a blur under his feet. No, he had not thought of that actually. It had never been a consideration before because no one had ever crossed that line before. His leather life had always stayed in his suite at the hotel. Using those skills with a client was cut-and-dried, sign-on-the-dotted-line simple but using those skills with a lover? He had never done that, never even thought of it. He wasn't even sure he could or that he wanted to. How did that work, exactly? No, he hadn't thought of that.

Rolling his shoulders, Kurt shrugged the complication away. Jason wasn't in his life, not yet. He had said, "Yes" to one date, to giving Jason a chance, that's all. So far, all he knew was that the kid made him laugh.

_And he's fucking beautiful!_

Jason was only an inch taller than Kurt but he was broader through the shoulders, with the kind of abs that really deserved to be worshiped. He smiled like a kid, with his whole face, inviting you to share the laughter. Yes, he was beautiful and he was funny, which is why Kurt had said yes.

_No, it's not. _

Kurt walked even faster, but he couldn't outrun his own mind.

_You didn't say, "Yes", because he's cute. You didn't say, "Yes", because he makes you laugh. You said, "Yes" because…_

_Shut up!_

Kurt barely had time to enjoy the quiet before the pain-in-the-ass in his mind sent out a call to his memory and Jason's words flooded his brain. "Kurt's it's always been you taking care of me, giving me what I need. What about you? Let me take care of you. What do you need?"

_That's why you said yes._

* * *

David had spent his last year at McKinley hiding and staying the hell away from Glee club and Kurt. Unfortunately, the staying away from Kurt thing was too little, and way too fucking late. There was no coming back from what he'd done. He could barely breathe through the shame and guilt but Kurt, well, Kurt had always been stronger. He came back from Dalton and made David start that joke of a Gay/Straight Alliance club. He forgave David years before David could forgive himself.

He hadn't known Rachel back then, not really. She was just this strange girl in plaid skirts and knee socks charging down hallways and mooning over Finn Hudson. The woman in a T-shirt and some kind of fancy sweat pants, eating deli and laughing with her kids, didn't have much in common with the girl he remembered. Watching her, Dave realized that Rachel wasn't in a hurry to get somewhere anymore, she was already there.

"Thanks, Xavier. I'll be right down." Rachel slipped her phone away, and grabbed her bag. "My car's here, guys. Gotta go." Dropping a kiss on the top of two heads that barely looked up from their iPad games, Rachel held out her hand to David. "Drop by anytime, better yet, move here."

David smiled down at the woman whose face he'd seen plastered on a subway wall. "You know there are other cities in the country, right?"

Rachel patted his arm, her smile sympathetic. "No, Dave, there's really not. You'll see." Opening the front door, she gave Puck and Kurt a stern look and pointed to the boys. "I don't care what they say, two songs, that's it."

Kurt just grinned as Puck pressed the button for their private elevator. "Break a leg, babe."

Their nanny, a student at NYU who arranged her courses around Rachel's theatre schedule, was only part-time. She didn't live in and she wasn't there on the weekends unless Puck was out of town. So, when the elevator slid shut on Rachel, Puck called time-out on the iPads and hustled the boys off to the bath. David followed Kurt into the kitchen and kept him company while he did complicated things to a professional looking coffee maker. It was obvious that Kurt spent a lot of time here, because he knew where everything was. He moved around the kitchen as if it was his, and David followed every move he made.

Opening the fridge to get milk for the latte, Kurt was very aware that this David wasn't hiding anything anymore. He certainly wasn't hiding his interest in Kurt. If he hadn't already known, Puck's grin as he helped one of the boys out of his booster seat after dinner, his back to David, would have clued him in. "You're not staying in a hotel for six months, are you?"

"Nah, the company's got me in a one bedroom in mid-town. The place is okay, but man, small. I may have to lose weight just to squeeze into the bathroom."

Karofsky didn't seem too concerned and Kurt could see why, the man obviously worked out. He was still big, but it was all muscle now. "Yeah, that's the downside of New York, not a lot of space."

"Puck says you live in the Meat Packing District?"

"Yeah." Kurt did something to a black handled nozzle and steam and froth poured into a mug. "I got lucky. It's still small, but it's got light and that's all I care about."

David nodded at a painting sitting on a ledge between the kitchen cabinets. "That one of yours?"

Kurt grabbed two mugs, nodded to David to take the other, and led the way back to the living room. "The Rachel Berry Gallery is my first and only showcase."

Standing beside Kurt, David held his eyes, absolute conviction in his own. "The first maybe, but not the last."

Shirt damp from a water-fight in the bath tub, hair soaked and happy all over his face, Puck called after the two boys who burst into the living room. "Mom said two songs, one each. Don't bug your uncle for more."

The twins climbed onto the couch, jumping on the cushions on either side of Kurt and he automatically grabbed the back of their sleep shirts so they didn't fall over. "Who's first?"

"Me, it's my turn." Reid had no problem talking and jumping at the same time. "Thriller, Thriller, Thriller!"

Puck groaned. "Reid, come on, you know it by heart already."

Reid nodded in agreement. "Yeah, make the scary faces, Dad."

Ryan stopped jumping and leaned against the back of the couch, sending his father a warning look. "Don't forget that slide step at the end, Dad. Just do what Uncle Kurt does."

Puck rolled his eyes but he got into formation with Kurt. "Critics, I'm raising freaking critics!"

David laughed and prepared to be entertained but Kurt wasn't letting him off that easy. "Nah-uh, Dave. You know this one, get up here."

Pushing the coffee table aside, the three men crouched and pretended to crawl out of make-believe graves. They stomped around the living room like zombies and totally butchered Michael Jackson's iconic song. The kids screamed when Kurt and Puck fanned out on either side of Karofsky, crawled over the arms of the couch and grabbed a boy each. David was worried that the kids would have nightmares but, apparently, zombies liked to tickle, who knew?

Struggling out from under his father, Ryan surprised everyone by turning to David. "My turn." He assessed the new guy and deemed him worthy. "What songs do you know?"

"Uh…" Karofsky sent Puck a dismayed glance and got a totally unsympathetic grin in response. "Songs?"

Ryan was very patient. "Yeah, you know, what's on your iPod?"

"My iPod, right." Not daring to look at Kurt, David took a deep breath and started to sing. Puck cracked up laughing as David's voice stumbled over the lyrics to Megan Trainer's "All About the Bass". The kids jumped in on the chorus, both physically on the trampoline couch, and musically at the top of their lungs. David only hoped that they drowned him out.

Face flushed with embarrassment, any hope of mature sophistication destroyed, David accepted the applause he so did not deserve. As the clapping died down, and Puck managed to stop laughing, David thought his torture was over. Wrong. Kurt lifted one eyebrow and smiled. "What, no dance?"

Karofsky picked up a decorator pillow and tried to smother Kurt, a fun game for the whole family, as it turned out.

* * *

Kurt took a last sip of wine, put his empty glass on the coffee table and stood. "I'm going to leave before every drunk in New York decides to urinate in the subway."

Puck was oh, so surprised when David decided to leave too. "You could always take a cab, you know." He pushed the button for the elevator and didn't say anything about Kurt and Dave leaving together. Rachel was going to be so proud of him. Or not. As the door slid shut he caught Kurt's eye and panted like a puppy. Turning the living room lights off, he grinned all the way down the hallway to his bedroom. _Oh, yeah, this should be interesting._

They took the long way downtown, talking and walking, ending up in Times Square just after 1 a.m. Together they climbed the same red stairs at the TKTS booth that the Glee club had climbed years before. They did the Tourist Stare at the people and the lights, and Kurt pointed out 49th St. where Rachel's show was playing at the Ambassador Theatre. Back on the sidewalk, Kurt stopped beside a subway entrance and held his hand out to David. "My so-called muse has been illusive lately, so if you get bored with corporate life give me a call."

Karofsky took Kurt's hand and didn't let it go. "Show me your studio?"

Kurt laughed. "Shouldn't I be the one saying," He put a leer in his voice and twirled an imaginary moustache, "let me show you my sketches."

David wasn't ever going to get enough of Kurt's laughter. He wasn't ever going to get enough of Kurt, period. He leaned down the few inches until his lips were level with the other man's ear. "Is this where I say, 'If you show me yours, I'll show you mine'?"

Kurt looked into hazel eyes that were hesitant and hopeful behind the laughter. _Yeah, I think so. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: First Move**

The subway doors slid open and a gang of teenagers spilled out on to the platform, leaving Kurt and Karofsky and, of course, the one requisite loony huddled into a corner of the car, talking to himself. Kurt stood, leaning against one of the team of metal poles that marched down the centre of the car, his weight shifting easily, keeping his balance automatically as the subway rattled its way through the dark. Sitting opposite Kurt, David stared at the subway map over the other man's shoulder. Each time the doors slid open and shut, he counted off the stops in his head. _Come on. Come on. Come on._ Yes, he was in a fucking hurry! He didn't trust that this was actually happening, that Kurt wasn't going to change his mind.

It was obvious that David was nervous. He had quite the routine going; tap thumb against knee, bounce leg, tap floor, repeat. "Hey." Kurt spoke just loud enough to be heard over the rattle of the subway car. He waited until David stilled his twitching limbs and looked up at him. "I'm not going to change my mind."

Embarrassment and relief chased each other across Karofsky's face and relief won. He sagged back against the seat, blew out a theatrically, exaggerated exhale and grinned up at Kurt. "How did you know?"

Kurt shook his head and sent David a teasing smile. "Did you forget?"

Hearing the underlying laughter in Kurt's voice, David smiled in anticipation. "What?"

Kurt dredged up that bit he used to pull in high school, where he starred at his fingernails and then blew on them, all the while starring right at David. "I'm fairly intelligent."

* * *

The sound of their footsteps echoed in the early morning quiet of the building, as Karofsky followed Kurt up the stairs to his apartment. "No elevator?"

Kurt shook his head. "Renovated _walk up_."

David nodded. "Got it." This former meatpacking plant was far and away from Dave's tidy house in a suburb outside of L.A. Kurt hit a few buttons on a keypad inset into the wall, the door slid open and David stepped into an open space of hardwood floors, and uncovered metal support beams. A line of windows marched along the far wall, still clad in its original brick, and neon-lit dark flooded the room. The click of a lock had David turning on his heel to find Kurt walking toward him. This Kurt; smile inviting, eyes roaming over Karofsky's body, hands already reaching to the top buttons on his own shirt, bore no resemblance to the flushed-face, furious boy who had chased after David, crowding him against a wall of lockers in the boys' locker room all those years ago… but Dave found himself frozen in place, unable to move towards Kurt. He couldn't make himself take one step closer to the man he wanted more than he wanted to fucking breathe.

Confusion drew Kurt's brows together as his fingers stilled on his second button and he stopped a few feet away from Karofsky. "David?"

"Kurt," Dave felt the blush burning up the back of his neck but he forced himself to hold the crystal eyes as he blurted out the truth, "you know I want you but, God Kurt, I had nightmares about that fucking kiss for years. I can't do that again." Karofsky took a step back, his arms at his side, his eyes pleading with Kurt. "I need to know that you want this. Please."

It struck Kurt for the first time that what had been his first kiss with a boy, a travesty of what it should have been, had also been Dave's first kiss. As traumatic as that kiss had been for Kurt, he saw the mirror-image of that trauma in David's eyes now; shame, and guilt, and regret.

Three steps and Kurt was running his hands along David's shoulders, cupping the sides of his neck, pushing his hands into the taller man's hair and pulling his head down. "What kiss?" He whispered the words into David's mouth, and Dave collapsed against him, wrapping him up and holding him close.

Karofsky didn't see the stacks of canvases that lined the walls of Kurt's loft. He didn't notice the compact corner kitchen, or the one small flat-screen looking forgotten and forlorn in a dusty corner of Kurt's bedroom alcove. He saw Kurt, and a bed, and Kurt, and pillows hitting the floor, and Kurt, and a duvet cover being kicked out of the way, and Kurt, and Kurt, and Kurt.

It didn't take long for Kurt to clue into the fact that David did not just want him to take the first move; he wanted him to take all the moves. Karofsky was enthusiastic, responsive, satisfyingly vocal and totally submissive. Straddling the larger man's hips, bending to nip, and lick, and suck his way across the broad chest, Kurt smiled at the litany of sighs and sounds, the "Yes!" and "Please! And "Oh, Fuck!" that spilled from Karofsky's lips. Sitting up, one hand planted in the middle of David's chest, looking down at the man spread out beneath him, Kurt bumped his ass back, rubbing against the hot column of hard flesh just behind him. Soft moaning hit the air as David's eyes closed, his head tipped back and his hips arched up into Kurt. "Kurt… Oh god, Kurt!"

"You want inside me, David?" Kurt rubbed his ass back and forth across Dave's erection and David shuddered under him, his hands clutching at Kurt's hips. "Answer me!

The demand in Kurt's voice pulled David out of his touch-want-touch haze and snapped his eyes open. "Yes!"

"Good," Smiling, Kurt traced a finger over Karofsky's jaw and across his bottom lip. "Then you're going to do exactly what I say, aren't you?" They both had to hear David say it.

"Of course." Dave sounded surprised, as if obeying Kurt was such a universal constant that he had never considered any other option.

Changing position, Kurt stretched out full-length along David's body. Aligning his legs with David's, he braced himself on his forearms, and licked into David's mouth. "That's my boy." The words were like setting a match to a roll of newspaper; instantaneous combustion! Karofsky melted into the mattress, his whole body liquid under Kurt, except for the solid erection that was a burning pressure along Kurt's inner thigh. _Ah, thought so!_

Skin rustled over cotton as hands glided and gripped and pinched amid deep, drugging kisses. Dry-humping became very much less dry as leaking cocks slid against each other. Pushing back onto his knees, Kurt straddled Karofsky's thighs. Leaning over he grabbed a condom from a box on the shelf by the bed and tossed it at David. Pumping lube onto his fingers, Kurt watched Karofsky rip the wrapper open and slide the condom on. "Wrap your hand around your cock. Uh-Uh…" Tossing the lube, Kurt smacked at David's hand. "Did I say stroke it? No, I didn't." Karofsky's hand stilled, his fist forming a cuff around his own cock. "Tighter. Put your other hand behind your head. Good." Reaching back, Kurt slid two slick fingers into himself, his eyelids sliding to half-mast as he savoured the feel.

David had watched guys prep themselves before, of course, but nothing and no one had ever looked like this. Raising and lowering his hips, riding his own fingers, his eyes half-closed, his lips slightly open, Kurt put the sin in sinuous. When he arched his back, planted a hand on David's shoulder, and pressed a third finger into himself, David couldn't keep the needy whine inside any longer. "Kurt, please." In an effort not to move, he curled the hand under his head into a fist, feeling his nails digging into the palm of his hand.

"No. Don't move." Removing his fingers, Kurt knee-walked up the bed a few inches, planted one foot on the mattress beside Dave's hip and raised himself over the cock slowly seeping drop after drop of pre-cum over Dave's fist. Lowering his hips, Kurt pressed down on the head of Karofsky's cock, feeling it stretch him wide and pop past the sensitive ring of muscle. Dropping his head, Kurt flexed, squeezing and releasing the silken flesh inside him, once, twice and then he raised himself until the crown of Dave's cock just brushed at his entrance. Dave groaned, thrusting his hips up trying to get back into Kurt's body. "Don't move."

Dave wanted to scream, shifting and begging under Kurt, he wanted to drag the other man down on to his cock and fuck right up into his body until one or both of them broke into little sobbing pieces of satisfied skin and bone. He wanted to thrust his fingers into Kurt's hair and drag his mouth down and swallow his tongue. He wanted to roll them both over, tug Kurt to the edge of the bed, pull his legs up and fuck him until the only sound in the room was skin hitting skin. Looking up into crystal eyes gone stormy grey, desire exploding the pupils, Karofsky found that while he _wanted _to do a lot of things, he _needed _to do whatever Kurt said. Starring up at every fantasy he'd ever had, David didn't move.

Thigh muscles bunching, Kurt raised and lowered his ass onto Karofsky's cock, squeezing and teasing the crown, occasionally dropping down an inch or two until his ass brushed Dave's fist, but always moving up and off, rubbing his entrance over the slick head before starting the whole process over again. "Think you can cum like this?" Kurt flexed his inner muscles, squeezing, and David screamed his answer into the room. "NO!"

Reaching between them, Kurt pulled Karofsky's hand away from his cock, and slammed down onto the man beneath him. "Me either." Rocking back and forth, Kurt found exactly the angle he needed, pulled David's hand out from under his head and locked their hands together. Fingers twined around David's he blinked down into the hazel eyes and ordered, "Fuck me! Now!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Friends and Lovers**

Karofsky was just too damn big. He didn't stay on his side of the bed, he hogged the blankets and he preferred Kurt's pillow to his own. While he wasn't especially thrilled to spend half the night hanging onto the edge of his mattress, Kurt was going to let the bed-hog thing slide because waking up with his own personal 6'2" teddy bear wrapped around him wasn't a bad way to start the day. There hadn't been anyone in Kurt's life that rated sleep-over privileges in quite a while. He had forgotten how much he liked sharing the shower in the morning. Standing at the sink shaving, he watched in the mirror as David toweled his hair dry. Running the electric razor over his jaw, Kurt silently digested the strange truth that Karofsky, all domestic in his washroom, felt both totally foreign and temptingly comfortable.

Over Sunday brunch at a favourite hang-out of Kurt's, they talked about work and family. Toasted bagels, scrambled eggs and continuous coffee, fueled their investigation into the differences between the boys they had been, and the men they now were. David still loved football and spent most Sundays in front of a TV while Kurt preferred to improve his game by touring the masters at MOMA. They both agreed, however, that vacations meant sun and ocean, that Christmas needed snow, and that the Ultimate Fight Club was a guilty pleasure. A chance remark of Dave's turned brunch into NASCAR mania as the ex-McKinley boys talked Daytona 500 and drivers and cars.

After brunch, David hailed a cab and if Kurt still needed a demonstration of how not-in-denial this grown-up version of Karofsky was, he got it. Dave gave him a Just-Jumped-Your-Bones-Don't-Want-To-Leave goodbye kiss in front of the cabbie and all of New York. He pulled away, one hand still lingering on the back of Kurt's neck. "You know how to find me, right?"

Kurt tapped the phone tucked into his back pocket, David's mid-town address already keyed in. "Yeah, and you know where I live." He leaned into Karofsky pressing him back against the cab. Using a chaste kiss on the cheek as camouflage, he slid his hand between David's thighs for a lightning quick grope. Dave gasped and Kurt stepped back, crystal eyes laughing as he waved Karofsky into the cab. "Call me."

Sunday afternoon, Kurt sweated through his regular work-out routine and grabbed a shower at the local gym. Climbing the five flights to his apartment, he wondered once again why a walk up had seemed like a good idea. Oh, yeah, right, the light. Sitting at a beat-up table covered in rags, and brushes, and tubes of paint, he hit power on his laptop, logged in to KolourbyKurt and got to work. Scanning through a file of pictures of his finished canvases, he added a few new ones to the online catalogue and organized the others by theme/colour. It made his artistic soul cringe but there were a lot of people out there who weren't looking for an image that spoke to them, they just wanted something in a colour that worked with their décor. Philistines, perhaps, but he couldn't afford to be picky. He had to let his babies go to anyone who waved a credit card at him.

Catalogue updated, Kurt turned his attention to his inbox, groaning as he read through the emails. _Is there a gallery where I could see your work? I wish! Will you be participating in NADA New York this year? Yes, will you be buying something? Do you have this in another colour? No, asshole, that's what original means! _Gritting his teeth, he wrote diplomatic and professional responses. He did not say, "What do you think I am, Walmart?"

Clicking open the last email, his hand froze on the wireless mouse. He blinked, scrolled to the top, and read the email again. _Holy shit!_

Mr. Hummel;

I own a small gallery in Brooklyn and we would like to host an exhibit of your work.

If you are interested, please contact me at this email address or call 718.669.6868

Eric Stedler

_No fucking way!_ Kurt forgot how to breathe until he felt himself gasping for air as he clicked through the gallery's website. He read their mission statement, their blog and looked at photos of past exhibits. Checking the gallery owner and phone number listed on the website against the one in his email, he collapsed back in his chair and stared at the screen. _This is for real!_ Eyes glued to the screen he fumbled for the mouse and cursed as he accidentally closed the gallery's website down. _Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. Shit, my hands are shaking! _Navigating to the black reply arrow at the top of the email in his inbox, he noticed the date and groaned. _Ah, crap!_ The email had been sitting here for four days! Berating himself for not checking his site more often, he typed two words, "I'm interested." He added his cell number which was purposely not listed on his KolourbyKurt website and hit send. Logically, he knew he wasn't going to get an immediate response, but he sat staring at the screen anyway, willing his inbox to talk to him. _Idiot! _Laughing at himself, he closed his laptop down.

Not quite believing that this wasn't some major screw-up, that the email hadn't come to him by mistake, Kurt paced the loft. He pulled canvases away from the walls, examining each painting with a critical eye, wondering what kind of thing this Eric guy was looking for. Staring at his paintings, he imagined them on a long white wall, under accent lighting. Entirely unconcerned with whoever might or might not be able to see him through the windows, he grabbed the nearest painting and waltzed it around the room. _Un-fucking-believable!_

The light changed as afternoon became evening but Kurt, separating out the works that he felt were his best, didn't notice the time until his phone started a mini-massage in his back pocket. Swiping open his calendar, Kurt read, Jason Dinner. _Fuck!_ Between Karofsky coming home with him last night and the email from Stedler that afternoon, he had totally forgotten about Jason, shit!

Reading the names of the stores and restaurants he passed, and not finding the Bistro Café he was looking for, Kurt stopped and pulled out his phone to check the address. Retracing his steps, he found a black wrought iron railing and slipped his phone away. No wonder he'd walked right past it, the restaurant was below street level. Descending the cement steps, he pulled the glass door open. Scanning the tiny space he saw eight, maybe, ten tables packed closely together and a man with sandy-blond hair and a life-is-a-party smile waving at him.

Jason stood as Kurt approached the table and leaned in for a hug. "Walked right passed it, didn't you?"

Without even thinking about it, Kurt ruffled the blond waves the way he always did in that other life. Smiling, he slid into the seat across from Jason. "Yeah, I didn't think to look down."

Handing Kurt one of the two menus on the table, Jason grinned. "No one ever finds it the first time. This is really close to my place, so I practically live here." He pointed to the hand-written menu Kurt was holding. "The menu changes daily; based on what the owner, who is also the cook, finds at the market." Jason spread his hand out, encompassing the whole restaurant. "This is a one-woman show. Angelina runs everything and if she doesn't like you, she doesn't feed you."

Kurt smiled into the green eyes across the table, teasing in his voice. "And she likes you?"

The food was as good as Jason promised; simple, and fresh. Savouring the delicate flavours dancing across his taste buds, Kurt put his fork down, wiped his napkin across his lips and asked the question he could not ask in that other life. "Want to tell me how someone your age can afford regular Dom trips?"

"My age?" Jason turned a sly smile on Kurt. "Why, how old are you?"

"I'm twenty-nine," Kurt picked up his fork and pointed it at Jason, "and you're deflecting. Answer the question."

Shrugging as if it were no big deal, Jason looked down at the table and mumbled. "I'm good with numbers."

"Good with numbers as in, I'm an accountant or as in, I launder money for the mafia?"

Jason laughed but his face was a little flushed and he avoided Kurt's eyes. "Good with numbers as in, I'm a grad student working on my Ph.D. in Math."

Kurt stared at the younger man as he absorbed this unexpected piece of information. "Last time I checked, grad students couldn't afford me."

The blond across the table still looked embarrassed. "Also good with numbers as in, casinos."

"You're telling me you have a system?"

"Not really, no. I just play around with numbers and sometimes I win."

"And sometimes you lose?"

Jason nodded. "Yeah, sometimes I lose. Remember that time two months ago when I had to reschedule?" He shrugged. "I lost."

"Doctorate in … ?"

"Theoretical mathematics."

Kurt broke a bread roll apart, shaking his head as Jason passed him the butter. "I barely survived Calculus and you… you're a genius."

"I'm not!" Jason denied it vehemently. He wanted Kurt to like him and no one liked the guy who made them feel stupid. "I'm not!"

Kurt reached across the table and grabbed Jason's hand, his fingers tracing soothing strokes across the back of the other man's wrist. He had never seen Jason like this, and he didn't like it. "Hey, who told you that you couldn't be smart?"

Jason snorted. "Oh, you can be smart, you just can't get laid." He smiled but that didn't hide the hurt shining in his eyes or the bitter undernote to his voice.

Kurt heard Jason's words from that other life… _You don't have to baby me. I can take it… _and he knew the man didn't want pity. He released Jason's hand and sat back in his chair. "Right, like you have to worry about not getting laid!"

The conviction in Kurt's tone, the sincerity in his eyes wiped the clinging cobwebs of hurt away. "Think I'm pretty, do ya?" Jason was only half-joking. Yes, he knew what his mirror reflected but it was Kurt's opinion that mattered.

Kurt looked at the man in front of him, mentally adding new pieces to the puzzle that was Jason: scary smart and vulnerable. "Little bit, yeah."

Jason locked the pleasure of that admission away to be savoured later when he was alone and didn't have to make intelligent conversation. "What about you? What do you do when you're not wielding a whip?"

It was easy. Kurt felt like he had walked into this restaurant and right into the middle of a long-term relationship. The knowledge and trust developed in that other life translated an unprecedented level of comfort into this one. He hadn't realized how much he already knew about Jason; not the details, no, but the man. He knew Jason's body language, the small tells that broadcast the feelings he didn't want to express. Yes, he knew this man.

Aligning his knife and fork beside each other on his plate, Kurt laid his hand palm up on the table. Jason slipped his hand into Kurt's, a hint of shy hiding in his smile. Kurt twined their fingers together. "Stop worrying."

Jason shook his head in denial but he hid his eyes from Kurt. "I'm not worry…"

Kurt squeezed Jason's hand before letting it go. "You are." He gestured indicating Jason and himself. "I like this, us. Thank you."

"For what?"

"I never would have let you out of the client box." Kurt shrugged. "Never would have even thought of it." He flashed a smile at the man across the table, laughter lighting his eyes. "But you broke out anyway and I could use another friend."

Jason looked devastated. "Friend?"

The crystal eyes darkened as Kurt allowed desire to surface. "Friend, lover, your choice."

_Oh, fuck!_ The fantasy of just that look in Kurt's eyes stoked every single one of his solo sessions. Jason knew the controlled, taking-care-of-you, detached Pro Dom look, but that's not what he wanted. This, this is what he hungered for. "Lover!" The word exploded into the air, too loud, too desperate. Jason forced himself to calm the fuck down. Taking a deep breath, reciting algorithms in his head to deflate the hardness pressing against his zipper, he leaned across the table and locked eyes with Kurt. "I choose lover."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Beyond the Dom**

Jason lived in the student ghetto, in a crumbling building that showed the wear and tear of generations of students. The elevator was small and adorned with dents and dings and graffiti, but it was an elevator and it worked. Anything that got them inside Jason's apartment as fast as possible had Kurt's full approval. Standing behind Jason, he curved one hand around the younger man's hip, and Jason backed up a step brushing his ass against Kurt's groin. A guy with eyebrow piercings carrying a case of beer, and a young woman weighed down with text books and computer paper, shared the much abused metal box with them. The fact that they weren't alone kept the ride within the bounds of public decency. Staring at the lit panel above the elevator doors, Kurt tried to analyze his all-consuming impatience. It's not like he'd never seen the man naked before. It's not like he didn't know what a Jason straining toward orgasm sounded like. He knew exactly how to tip Jason over the edge so why did this feel like it was their first time?

Jason locked the door behind them and Kurt shoved him up against the wall. The urgency that had been their silent companion on the walk home, the desire that had felt like a ticking time bomb in the elevator pulsed between them. Looking into the green eyes reflecting his own need back at him, Kurt set his hands on Jason's shoulders and slid them down Jason's arms, clasping their hands together. Raising Jason's arms high above his head, Kurt pinned Jason's hands to the wall. Pressed full-length against the younger man, their arms melded together along the wall, Kurt finally clued into what his cock already knew. In all the ways that counted, this _was _their first time.

For the first time, Kurt wasn't on the clock. He wasn't working off a script written by his client. He didn't have to stay in control, making sure to tick all the boxes that lit his client up. For the first time, this wasn't only about Jason. Stepping between the younger man's legs, grinding against him, Kurt pushed past Jason's lips, forcing his mouth wide, and tried to brand himself into every cell of Jason's body. Now that Kurt could finally be himself and not the Pro Dom, he welcomed the passion this man had always incited, the passion he had schooled himself to ignore.

_What are you trying to do, win the Guinness World Record for the fastest fuck ever? Nice! This is how you want your first time with Jason to go? _Kurt peeled himself off Jason, but it wasn't easy and he couldn't let him go completely. Disentangling their fingers, he traced the pulse points at Jason's wrists and swept his hands down from wrist to shoulder to hip. He didn't miss the fact that Jason kept his hands high above his head as if Kurt's hands were still pinning them to the wall. His grip tight, his fingers digging through denim, Kurt framed Jason's hips, holding him in place against the wall. Taking a deep breath, he rested his forehead against Jason's. He had done a lot of things with this man, to this man, back in that leather world, but not this. Taking Jason's ass had not been part of the script.

* * *

Jason hovered on the brink of a nervous breakdown all day. He worried that Kurt would cancel. He worried that Kurt wouldn't like the restaurant, that maybe he should have picked some place more up-scale or trendier. Mostly, of course, he worried that Kurt wouldn't like him. Anxiety sped his heart beat and churned in his gut at the very real possibility that tonight could be both the beginning and the end of everything. Kurt wouldn't take him back as a client, so if this dinner didn't go well, if Kurt didn't want to see him again, Jason was screwed. No pressure!

In that other world, the one in Kurt's hotel suite, Kurt had always seemed to like him. But that didn't count, did it? All those hours in Kurt's hotel room didn't mean shit because he had been fucking paying the man to be nice to him. He couldn't even take comfort in the theory that Kurt agreeing to this date ipso facto meant he liked him. The sadistic bastard in the back of his mind insisted that Kurt had only agreed to see him tonight to get rid of the pathetic loser stalking him at a nursery school fund raiser. Fuck!

Kurt did show up, of course. He wasn't the kind of arrogant ass-hat who stood people up. Smiling, he returned Jason's hug, ruffling his hair before settling into his seat. That familiar touch, Kurt's fingers riffling through his hair, sent hope dancing up the back of Jason's spine. Taking his seat across from Kurt, he thought that maybe, just maybe, not everything in that hotel suite had been based on money.

The walk home from the restaurant was torture. He did not take Kurt's hand, or lean into him as they walked. He did not throw his arm around Kurt's shoulders or wrap it around his waist. He did not touch Kurt at all, because if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop, not tonight. It was mere minutes to his building but if felt like fucking forever!

Locking his apartment door, turning to find himself plastered against the wall under Kurt's body, the truth burnt itself along Jason's every sensory receptor. They had so never been here before, not like this. This was the real Kurt. This was the man behind the controlled, friendly persona from the hotel. This man was a tidal wave of lust breaking over Jason and Jason melted into him, wanting to be broken. Licking along Jason's bottom lip, Kurt pulled out of the kiss, rested his forehead against Jason's and went quiet. _No, no, no! What are you doing? Don't stop, please don't stop now!_ Jason didn't move, he was afraid to move, afraid to do anything that might make this man walk out the door. "Kurt?" The word was whisper soft, as if Kurt was a wild animal that Jason was trying not to spook.

Kurt pulled away from Jason in slow motion, first lifting his forehead off Jason's, then releasing his hips, then reaching up and unpinning Jason's hands from the wall above him. Humour edged out the lust in the crystal eyes as Kurt took a step back and smiled at the younger man. "Not, that fucking you against the wall doesn't have its appeal, but perhaps we can leave that for next time."

_Next time. _It took a second for Jason's brain to kick in, to translate what his ears had heard. _Next time!_ He launched himself at Kurt, forcing him to stumble back a step as he absorbed Jason's full body weight. Laughing, Kurt tried to ward off the younger man as Jason dropped kisses over his face and neck. Granted, he didn't try very hard.

"Next time." Jason nibbled just under Kurt's jaw. "Anytime." Jason sucked down the side of Kurt's neck. "Anytime you want." Jason bit Kurt's earlobe. "Anything you want." Jason pulled back and looked at Kurt as if he was every Christmas present he would ever want. "I mean it. Whatever you need, I want to give it to you."

There it was again. Jason had said something similar yesterday at the benefit concert. _What about you? Let me take care of you. What do you need__?_ The sincerity and generosity of Jason's offer, the fact that he even thought to make it, crept under Kurt's defenses. He reached out …

Jason leapt sideways, inches from Kurt's hand, mischievous laughter lighting his green eyes. Bouncing back into Kurt's personal space, he dropped a kiss to one cheek and sprang away again. Kurt's eyes lit with laughter but he drawled sardonically, "Little old to play catch, aren't you?"

Shaking his head in denial, Jason circled Kurt being careful to keep just out of reach. "Nah, I'm not the one that's almost thirty." Hand raised, he darted in, swatted at Kurt's butt, and leapt out of reach again. "But if you're not up to it?"

A slight narrowing of Kurt's eyes was all the warning Jason got before Kurt charged at him. Jason turned and bolted for the bedroom. He didn't get far. Kurt caught him before he could dart around the bed. He tackled Jason and they landed on the bed, on top of each other, laughing. Reaching up, Jason trailed his fingers down the side of Kurt's face. "You should do that more often."

"What?" Kurt straddled Jason, his fingers inching the other man's T-shirt up.

Jason did a half crunch, allowing Kurt to pull the shirt off over his head, and flopped back down. He ran his hands up Kurt's arms and tugged at the collar of his sweater. "Laugh, play; it looks good on you."

Kurt pulled his sweater off and tossed it. "You don't think I get enough," Raising his eyebrows, Kurt stressed the next word, "_playing_ in the hotel suite every week."

"No." Jason shook his head, his hands already working on Kurt's zipper. "That's work and you're very, very good at it." Smiling up at Kurt, he slid his hands inside Kurt's opened jeans and cupped his hips. His thumbs stroking the skin above the waistband of Kurt's underwear, his smile faded as his eyes got serious. "I don't think you're having any fun though. This," Jason moved his hands up, spreading his palms over Kurt's chest, "is fun." He bumped his hips up and twisted sideways, spilling Kurt to the mattress and climbing on top of him. Tickling his fingers over Kurt's rib cage, he sneaked in a quick twist to one nipple.

Kurt grabbed Jason's wrist and flipped him over onto his back. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to be careful with your toys."

Jason reached up and traced the smile on Kurt's face. "I like this you." He trailed his hand along Kurt's collar bone and down his arm. "That other guy, the one with the whip, is fucking hot but I couldn't touch him."

Sliding off Jason, Kurt swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat up. His Chelsea boots hit the floor followed by his socks. Standing, he pushed his jeans and boxers down and kicked them aside. Quirking a smile at the man still lying on the bed watching him, Kurt swept a hand down his own body. "So, touch."

Kurt didn't get naked in that other world. Jason sometimes ended up naked, sometimes not, but Kurt only ever took off his shirt. Jason's eyes went to what he hadn't seen before and rolling onto his stomach, he pushed himself across the sheets. _Oh, yeah, touching, definitely touching._ Lying prone on the bed, he wrapped his arms around Kurt and turning his face to the side, pressed his check against Kurt's stomach.

Looking down, Kurt smiled to himself as he threaded his fingers through the blond waves splashed against his skin. As brash as Jason had been for months, upfront and vocal about his attraction to Kurt, Kurt was surprised that Jason's first move was this rather sweet lower body hug. He was beginning to think that this man would always surprise him.

His hands slipping to Kurt's hips, Jason inched back on the bed. He tipped his head down, his lips following Kurt's happy trail. Nuzzling into Kurt's groin, Jason explored with lips and tongue, learning Kurt's scent and feel. He inhaled deeply, practically purring in satisfaction. Rubbing his cheek along the silken skin of Kurt's cock, Jason flicked a glance up at the man standing above him. "I could live here. I could curl up between your legs and be perfectly happy."

"It might be a little hard to …" Kurt lost his train of thought as Jason sucked him down, wet heat and perfect friction, Jason's tongue continually flicking, teasing, lapping. Words packed up and left, thought following close behind and shutting the door. Kurt lost himself in another dimension of pure sensation, until hands pushed at his thighs and Jason pulled off. "Hey!"

Jason rolled over onto his back and dropped his head backwards over the edge of the bed. Reaching back he pulled at Kurt's legs. "Come here."

Feeding himself into Jason's mouth, Kurt looked at the man stretched out on the bed and stopped. "Wait."

"What?"

Kurt gestured at Jason's jeans. "Off."

Jason shook his head and reached back for Kurt. "Doesn't matter, later, I'll get undressed later."

Kurt took one step back. "No, now, I want to see your cock waving in the air while you suck me off."

Rolling over, Jason scrambled off the bed. "Oh, fuck yeah, that's good." He pulled and tugged, dropping everything in a pile on the floor, and seconds later was back on the bed with his head over the edge, his mouth already opening.

The visual was just as good as Kurt knew it would be. Jason stretched out across the bed, his cock leaking and swaying with every thrust of his hips as he fucked the air. Kurt sent a hand wandering, stroking over Jason's chest. His thumb flicked at a nipple and Jason jerked. Kurt repeated the flick, adding a pinch and Jason moaned around a mouthful of cock. Creating a rhythm, Kurt pumped into Jason deep and slow, pinching an alternate nipple on each thrust inside the hot welcome of Jason's mouth. The harder Kurt pinched the more Jason bucked against the bed and the closer Kurt came to losing it.

With a quick twist of his head, Jason pulled off and looked up at Kurt. "If I get you off now, you can still fuck me later, right?"

Kurt stared down at the man spread out on the bed, his brain stuttering back into functioning mode. "I'm twenty-nine asshole, not ninety!" His eyes narrowing as comprehension forced its way past arousal, Kurt knelt by the bed, slipped a hand under the back of Jason's head and brought their heads together. "Jason, you don't have to try and piss me off. If you ask me nicely, I'll blister your ass before I fuck you."

_Oh, thank God!_ Jason had been so afraid that this Kurt wouldn't want to indulge him in that way. He had worried that Kurt wouldn't want to let any part of the other world into his real life. Jason needed Kurt and he needed pain. It didn't have to be a lot, it didn't have to be anything Kurt wasn't comfortable with, but it had to be something. Jason knew himself and loving Kurt couldn't change who he was. "Please, Kurt, will you spank me raw and fuck me hard?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes." Standing, he moved back into position behind Jason. "Now, blow me."

Tilting his head over the edge of the mattress, Jason grinned up at Kurt and, for the first time in his life, said the words, "Yes, sir."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Sharing**

Kurt stepped back from the easel, tilting his head slightly, trying to decide… his cell phone vibrated and he wiped the paint off his fingers before pulling it out of his pocket. "Hey."

Just hearing Kurt's voice made David feel better. _Fucking meetings! Some assholes just love to hear themselves talk. _"One of the guys here was telling me that there is a burger joint hidden away in Le Parker Meridien hotel. You want to grab a probably ridiculously over-priced hamburger tonight?"

"Wining and dining me, Karofsky?"

"Just trying to get you into my pants."

"And you think a burger is going to do it?"

"No." David looked around the open-concept office space with its maze of partitioned cubicles and lowered his voice. "No, I think saying, 'please' is going to do it. The hamburger is just to make sure you have the energy."

Kurt laughed. "Throw in some fries and you have a deal. What time?"

David groaned. "I'm just going into another set of meetings and then I want to go home and change. 7:30?"

"See you there." Kurt swiped the call closed, slipped his phone away and went back to work.

He'd never done this before, maintained a relationship with two men at the same time. It wasn't exactly his modus operandi, his preference was serial monogamy. He never would have gone looking for something like this but fate had practically stepped in and arranged it for him. He wasn't lying to either man. They both knew he was seeing the other. David avoided the whole topic and Kurt was more than happy to avoid it with him. Jason, being Jason, was a touch more vocal…

_Kurt rolled onto his side, and Jason curled into him, his fingers tracing Kurt's chest. "You're going to keep seeing him, aren't you?"_

_One hand on Jason's hip, Kurt froze. He had been hoping they could continue to skip this conversation. "Yes." Jason said nothing, but his hand curled into a fist against Kurt's heart. "Are you okay with that?"_

_Jason exhaled; a long defeated sigh that hurt Kurt. "No, but I can deal with it."_

_Kurt stroked his fingers through the younger man's hair, ruffling the waves at the back of his neck, just the way he knew Jason liked him to. "If it makes you feel any better, it's just David and you."_

Three months in and it was working, which is what he should be doing, not standing here smiling to himself thinking about the men in his bed. Picking up his brush, he swirled it through the vermilion on his palette and snarled when his phone vibrated against his ass for the second time. With a distinct lack of patience, he went through the same routine again; put palette and brush down, wipe off fingers, dig out phone, swipe it open. "Hi, Charlie, what can I do for you?"

"Charles, it's Charles!"

Kurt snickered. "Don't you mean, Master Charles?"

"Shut-the fuck-up, Hummel." There was no heat in Charlie/Charles' voice, the protest was pure form. Kurt was the only one who called him Charlie anymore and he actually appreciated the nostalgia inherent in the name, not that he was ever going to admit that. "I need a favour. There's a guy in town for a few months from our sister club in L.A. I know you're not taking any new clients but this isn't a long-term thing. A session, maybe two, tops." He chuckled into the phone at the unintended pun.

Eric Stedler's email had not been a mistake. After checking out KolourbyKurt on a recommendation from one of Kurt's former professors, he had stopped by the loft to see Kurt's work in person and now, Kurt was just weeks away from his first gallery showing. If the exhibition increased his name recognition, if he acquired the interest of a few collectors, if Stedler's marketing worked and Kurt's paintings actually sold, if the universe smiled on him, then Kurt had every intention of retiring from the Pro Dom business. He had already started to phase himself out of the leather work, referring new clients elsewhere, but Charlie was a friend and he'd been a big help to Kurt over the years. "He doesn't want to go to the club?" Of course he didn't, or Charlie wouldn't be calling him.

"Nah, he doesn't want to get into the scene here, he just needs a little help while he's in town."

Kurt swiped his calendar open and checked his schedule. "I've got an opening next week, eight o'clock. That work?"

"Yeah, I'll send you his profile. Pretty standard stuff, you shouldn't have any trouble. So, I hear you're going to be the next Matisse. Which gallery is it, again, some place in Brooklyn?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, Brooklyn, you've heard of it, right?"

Charlie laughed. "Yeah, but the last time I checked it was all pizzerias and yeshivas. Thanks, Kurt. See you at the opening."

* * *

The following week, David being in Chicago for a few days and Jason lost in a pile of undergraduate term papers working his teaching assistant gig, Kurt decided to head up to the Upper West side and play uncle.

Puck opened the front door and grinned at Kurt as he stepped out of the private elevator. "Well, if it isn't New York's latest two-timing slut."

"Oh, yeah, that's the kind of talk that will get you the father of the year award. Where're the boys?"

With a nod indicating the family room and its TV, Puck said, "Sid the Science Kid."

"You haven't got them watching Monster Truck Racing, yet?" Teasing Puck, Kurt fell into step beside his friend, as they crossed the black and white tiled foyer and started down the hallway. "And, just for the record, I'm not two-timing anyone."

Puck nodded. _Yeah, he knew that. _"Want to tell me how you managed that?" He was curious and, okay, just a tad impressed.

Kurt's eyes laughed, as he grinned at Puck. "I'm just that fucking awesome."

Puck gave him the shove that remark deserved, and they spilled into the family room laughing. "Guys, Kurt's here."

After they got the kids in bed, Kurt made himself a coffee and Puck grabbed a beer. They got comfortable in front of some game on the flat screen that neither one of them was watching. "So this should be interesting, both your boys are going to be at the opening?"

Kurt cradled his coffee mug between his hands. "Yeah." He shook his head, thinking about that. "What was I supposed to do, tell one of them not to come? I couldn't hurt either one of them like that." He put his coffee down and shrugged. "I want them there."

Puck snorted and took a swig from his bottle.

"What?" Kurt knew that snort meant something.

Puck snapped his beer down on the coffee table next to the crayons and colouring books. "Here's me," Puck pointed to himself, "the sex-shark of Lima and here's you," he pointed to Kurt, "Mr. I believe in love!" Puck threw his arms in the air indicating the room, them, the kids sleeping down the hall. "And I'm the one babysitting while you're sex-on-a-stick. What the fuck, dude! When did you start living my life?"

Kurt laughed at the disgruntled expression on Puck's face. "You love those kids."

"Yeah, I do. I even like my wife, total psycho that she is." Leaning back on the couch and stretching his legs out, Puck plopped his feet on the coffee table. "Hummel, since we're being all best girlfriends tonight, there's something I've been wondering about." He sent Kurt a considering look. "This website of yours, PaintbyNumber?"

Kurt grinned, Puck knew the name of the website as well as he did, he was the one who helped him set it up. "KolourbyKurt."

Puck waved the correction aside. "You sell, what, one or two paintings every other month or so?" Kurt nodded, wondering at Puck's sudden interest. Puck nodded at one of Kurt's pieces hanging on the wall opposite a family portrait of him and Rachel and the boys. "I like your stuff but they're not exactly fighting over it at Christie's are they? There is no way the proceeds from that website cover your condo fees." Puck crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows at Kurt. "So, what are you doing, Princess, painting your own money?"

Kurt couldn't remember the last time Puck had called him Princess, and that, added to the concern lurking in the hazel eyes told Kurt that the ex-bad boy was really worried. "Chill. I'm not doing anything illegal." Puck just looked at him and ironically enough, now that Kurt was on the verge of quitting, he found that he wanted to tell someone about his little sideline.

"No fucking way!" Puck didn't do shocked very well; the expression seemed to actually hurt his face. If his eyes got any wider, they would pop right out of his head. "Flogger for Hire, are you freaking kidding me?"

Picking up his coffee cup, Kurt sat back in his chair. "Nope. You can Google me, I'm there."

A grin spread across Puck's face and he leaned forward, his arm raised in a High-Five. "Dude… Respect!" Smacking his hand against Kurt's, he settled back on the couch. "So, uh, do you have any openings? Rachel can't really hit hard enough."

Kurt almost dropped his coffee, and Puck cracked up, rolling on the couch as he shook with laughter. "Oh, man, you should see your face!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Trust**

Wednesday was busy, but Kurt did some juggling and while he didn't have as much time as he liked between clients, he managed to sort everyone out. Just before eight that night, he slid a thumb across his phone screen, swiped into his email account and reread the attachment Charlie had sent. The name on the profile was obviously fake but that was pretty much par for the course. Committing this new client's safe word to memory, Kurt familiarized himself with the list of kinks and hard limits. Slipping his phone away, he already had a scene in mind. Checking the bedroom and _en suite, _he found everything ready, all he needed was… a soft knock and Kurt crossed the sitting room and opened the hotel room door.

* * *

Karofsky paced the hotel hallway, phone in hand, checking the discretely printed numbers beside the doors against the one on his screen. Stopping in front of the one door at the far end of the hall, he checked the number on his screen again. He so did not need to be interrupting some vacationing couple from Idaho! He rapped softly on the door, and reached behind him to slip his phone into his back pocket. The door opened and he looked up… into Kurt Hummel's crystal eyes.

The world, the whole fucking universe stopped. Karofsky backed up, his eyes going from the number beside the door to the one on his phone and back again. Nothing made sense; door, phone, Kurt, door, phone, Kurt, door, phone… Kurt. Kurt _is _the fucking Dom! Gulping down air, trying to swallow past the nausea in his throat, David turned and stumbled back down the hall. Kurt!

* * *

Swinging the door open, Kurt saw David and smiled. "David! Hi, what are you…" His hand still on the door knob, Kurt froze. He watched David's eyes track back and forth between his phone and the plaque by the door. He watched as comprehension filtered through the shock and David started to hyperventilate. He watched David turn away … and his brain kicked in. "Where do you think you're going?" Almost five years of cracking the whip put steel into the tenor voice and it stopped Karofsky in his tracks. "I believe we have an appointment."

_This isn't happening!_ Karofsky squeezed his eyes shut but he still heard every word. They hit him like a million tiny arrows, stinging as they struck. _This isn't happening. Kurt can't know this._

"David!" Calm and controlled, that voice carried a demand that Karofsky couldn't ignore.

Relief washed over Kurt as David turned. He stood aside and closed the door behind the other man, saying nothing as his mind clicked over the information on the client profile, comparing it with the David he knew. Karofsky stopped just shy of the door at his back, silent, still like a hunted animal in the forest, convinced that if he just stayed still long enough he would be invisible. Kurt couldn't reach his David right now, but he could reach the sub. Walking a few steps to the middle of the room, Kurt pointed at the floor in front of him. "Kneel."

That one word made Karofsky shudder. _Oh, God, he couldn't do this!_ But he was already moving. Sliding to his knees felt like coming home. Slipping into position, his hands behind his back, and his head down, felt better than it ever had before because the man standing above him was this man, his man. He had wanted this for so long, ever since he saw Kurt on the chalk-outlined stage at the school benefit. Who the fuck was he kidding? He had wanted this for years, back before he even knew what this was. He had wanted this since that time in the locker room when Kurt chased after him, his face flushed and his eyes flashing.

Kurt watched Karofsky's breathing even out and his shoulders relax and he knew he had made the right decision. "Why didn't you tell me?"

David's head came up, anger and disbelief flashing across his face. He opened his mouth, obviously about to rip into Kurt … and stopped. The slight lift of one eyebrow, that's all it took. It wasn't even a full on frown. One twitch of an eyebrow and David stopped the roiling flow of words before they started. Subs didn't yell at a Dom. Period.

Lowering his head to a respectful tilt, David kept his eyes raised to Kurt. "I don't tell anyone."

Kurt considered that. "You've never had a lover who was into this?"

"I don't know." Karofsky shrugged. "I never asked."

Thinking out loud, Kurt put the pieces together. "You belong to a club in L.A. but you don't date anyone you play with. You keep your two worlds separate." Kurt understood about separate lives, what he didn't understand was why. He had been sleeping with this man for more than three months and the David he knew was quietly confident, happy in his own skin. "You don't have a problem with being submissive." Kurt knew that for a fact. David had never once tried to hide it. "And you fucking know that I get off on it so what's with the whole 'Don't Ask Don't Tell' bullshit?" Kurt heard the hurt and anger in his own voice and closed his eyes, centering himself. Later, he'd deal with his hurt feelings later.

"No, I don't have a problem with it, not now." David kept his eyes on Kurt's. "But other people do. I'm 6'2" and built like a fridge. Most guys look at me and expect me to stomp on them. They don't want to know this."

"And you think I can't see beyond a stereotype?" Kurt's voice was ice.

David broke protocol, unlocking his hands, throwing them out in an agitated effort to reassure Kurt. "No, no that's not why I didn't tell you." A narrowing of Kurt's eyes and David's hands were back behind his back. "I knew you liked the submissive in me but," Dave looked down, his voice almost a whisper. "I didn't know what you'd think about the rest of it." David looked up at Kurt and then down at himself, kneeling at Kurt's feet. "I couldn't take the chance that all this would freak you out. I didn't want to lose you."

Staring down at David, Kurt got it, he did. David wasn't the only one guilty of withholding information, was he? He hadn't told David about his little part-time job had he, and for exactly the same reason, he didn't want to lose the man. Yeah, he got it. "Strip."

It wasn't easy struggling out of clothes when you were already on your knees but Kurt didn't rescind his command to kneel and David didn't ask him to. It took a few minutes and some rather embarrassing flailing but a naked Karofsky finally settled back into the correct position; head down, eyes on the floor. He saw Kurt's shoes twist on the carpet and heard the other man walk out of the room but he stayed in position.

While he had been watching David struggle out of his clothes, Kurt had been reviewing the list of kinks itemized in Karofsky's client profile. Now, walking into the bedroom, he knew exactly what he needed. Retrieving his knapsack from the bedroom closet, he selected two items. Returning to the sitting room, he took a moment to appreciate the man waiting for him, kneeling for him. Leaning into David, he fastened a leather collar around the man's neck, automatically running a finger under it, making sure it wasn't too tight. Holding the lead's silver clasp in one hand, he let most of it slip through his fingers, the end trailing on the floor so that David could see it. Smiling at the soft gasp of pleasure that escaped his lover, he attached the lead to the silver ring on the collar and fussed with the length, draping it over David's shoulder so that it pooled on the floor in front of him.

Stepping back he stared at the tableaux before him and for the first time in his life, considered painting in a non-abstract style. He could see it, a portrait in the Impressionist style, done in shades of grey and black, just a hint of that leash, that cock. Reaching out, he placed a finger under Karofsky's chin and tipped his head up. He was hard as a fucking stone and he let David see that heat in his eyes. "Next time, trust me."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Celebrate!**

Still relatively new to New York and never having been to Brooklyn before, David overestimated how long it would take and consequently got there early. Standing on the sidewalk outside the still locked gallery, he texted Kurt. The sound of the door unlocking had David slipping his phone away. Kurt grabbed at David's jacket and pulled him inside. He locked the door with one hand, the other never leaving its grip on David's lapel, and then crunched David in a hug so tight, David was glad he was built sturdy.

Kurt relaxed into the familiar feel of David's hands soothing along his spine and tipping his head up, sighed against David's ear. "Why did I want to do this again?"

David stepped back, his arms loose around Kurt's waist and grinned at a Kurt who obviously couldn't decide if he was excited or nervous, so, he was going for both. "Because you need to share your genius with the world." David moved in closer and lowered his voice. "And because you want to be able to pay your condo fees without picking up a whip."

Putting one hand on David's cheek, Kurt pulled his head down for a quick kiss. "Don't want me sharing my expertise with anyone else, huh?"

Kurt was teasing but David was very serious. "No, I do not." He wasn't terribly thrilled about sharing Kurt with Jason, sharing him with strangers, even in a professional capacity, was just obscene. This was Kurt's night, though, and he didn't want to ruin it with his own insecurities. Slipping a hand into Kurt's, he banished all disquieting issues to another time and place, and smiled at his boyfriend. "Do I get a private tour?"

Eric Stedler had done a good job. Kurt's work had been impressive leaning against the wall in his condo, but here, displayed properly with accent lighting and enough space to appreciate each piece individually, it definitely drew the eye, and then the heart. It was a small gallery, a few tiny rooms, a few paintings in each room. Kurt's canvases dominated the space, overpowering the senses and seducing the soul. David said little as Kurt guided him through the exhibit, listening as Kurt told him small secrets about each painting.

"And that's it." Kurt twirled his hand indicating the whole exhibit and turned to David, a hint of nervousness in his smile.

David was no expert and he certainly wasn't objective, but these paintings seemed singular to him; intriguing, emotive, and compelling, much like the man who created them. He wanted to slip to his knees in front of Kurt but he settled for taking his hand, turning it over and pressing a kiss to the back of his wrist. "I love you."

Kurt was in his arms, wound around him, biting into his mouth, devouring him until Stedler called from the foyer. "Kurt, show time."

The artist of the hour unpeeled himself from David, one finger gently tracing the lip his teeth had tortured. "I love you too." Squaring his shoulders, he went to face the critics.

Two hours later, and the little gallery was a whirl of constant movement, people coming and going, laughing and talking, drinking the seemingly unending supply of white wine. David held his glass, sipping carefully as he moved from room to room. This Eric guy knew his stuff, the media was here, taking pictures and interviewing Kurt. Stedler schmoozed like the professional he was. He greeted the collectors he had invited and showed them around the gallery, introducing them to the artist as if he was pulling a rabbit out of a hat. There was a lot of hand shaking and air kissing and it was working. As the evening progressed, small red stickers appeared on canvases, indicating that they were sold.

David walked the rooms, observing the reaction to Kurt's work, yes, but also tracking Jason. He had seen the younger man come in. Watching him lean into Kurt, and watching Kurt's arms enfold him, déjà vu ripped through him. He had seen that hug before, he had watched Kurt's hands twine through the other man's hair just exactly the same way all those months ago, on the Upper West Side, his first day in New York. He saw the same ease, the same familiarity and he didn't like it any better now than he had then.

Nursing his wine, he circled through the rooms, thinking about the other man in his life. He didn't know anything about the guy. Kurt didn't talk about Jason, not to him, from which he assumed that Kurt didn't talk about him to Jason, either. At that thought, David snorted quietly to himself; Kurt had a lot of integrity for a guy who was sleeping with two men.

Rachel and Puck showed up late, probably coming directly from the theatre. Chatting to each other as they toured the exhibit, they were enjoying this quiet time without the twins when a reporter recognized Rachel and Puck slipped away from the paparazzi and found David.

David nodded at the pack surrounding Rachel. "That happen all the time?"

Puck shrugged. "It's New York, Broadway's a big deal here."

Puck grinned as they watched Rachel guide her pack over to Kurt and draw him into the media fray. "You'd never think watching them now that they used to nearly wipe the floor with each other fighting over solos in Glee Club."

David shuddered. "I remember the screaming."

Puck cocked his head to the side, wondering when David would have heard the divas squaring off on each other. "You weren't in Glee Club."

"No, God no! I wasn't as brave as you were and I can't sing for shit." Watching Kurt talk to the reporters, looking very tall standing next to the tiny Rachel, his arm around her shoulders, David smiled. "I used to hide in the back of the auditorium and watch your dress rehearsals."

Puck laughed. "Such a perv!"

"Guilty as charged."

Puck nudged David's elbow with his own. "What's with the blond in the corner staring at you? You collecting boys now, Karofsky?"

David didn't have to look. "That's Jason, you know, Kurt's _other_ boyfriend." He leaned over to place his empty glass on a window ledge. "We're not in Lima anymore, are we?"

Puck stared at the waves of blond hair and green eyes, something itching in his memory. "Why does he seem familiar?"

"Kurt introduced you once, remember? His niece goes to your kids' school; he was at that concert thing."

"Right." Puck nodded as the memory clicked in. "So that's the other guy, huh? He…"

David so didn't need to hear that Jason was younger and better looking and wasn't starting on a receding hairline. "Shut up."

"Me?" Puck laughed, trying to look innocent. "I was just going to say… "

"Yeah, don't!" David glared and Puck grinned but he shut up.

Jason blended with the crowd. His good looks and friendly smile were a magic combination that let him move easily between the chattering groups of people sipping wine and talking Kurt. He didn't have to say much which was good because he knew nothing about art. He knew the tall, square guy on the other side of the room though. He remembered wanting to punch the guy out all those months ago, at that concert, just for looking at Kurt. Jason grimaced to himself as he ducked around a couple standing in front of one of Kurt's paintings. Tall, thick and boring was doing a lot more than looking now, and there wasn't a damn thing Jason could do about it. Tucked into a corner of the room, out of the way of the flowing human traffic, Jason leaned against the wall and stared at the other man in his life. Okay, he wasn't being fair, the guy wasn't bad looking. Yeah, he was a bit of a hulk, but his mouth was nicely shaped and his shoulders made Jason feel inadequate. He watched, and when Puck and a woman he supposed was his wife moved away, Jason crossed the room. "We should talk."

David looked at the toned body and perfect smile and the thought crossed his mind that the smile wouldn't be so damn perfect if the guy was missing a few teeth. "Why?"

Jason turned and David followed his line of vision, right to Kurt. "Because we both love Kurt."

The words brought Karofsky's head around, staring at Jason as Jason stared at Kurt. David found himself grudgingly respecting the other man's courage. He would never have spoken that truth out loud. "Okay." Weaving his way through art aficionados, he headed for the next room, Jason right behind him. Opening a glass door onto a small patio empty but for a few die-hard smokers, David walked across the flagstones until he reached the bordering hedges and turned to face Jason. "You're not leaving anytime soon, are you?" He wasn't talking about the exhibit.

Jason shook his head. "Neither are you."

It wasn't a question but David answered anyway. "No."

Jason looked up at the big guy and noticed for the first time that his eyes were beautiful or they would be if they weren't looking at Jason as if they were measuring him for a coffin. "So, we're stuck with each other."

Slipping his hands into his pockets, David shrugged. "Until Kurt kicks one of us out of his bed."

Jason laughed. "You think that's going to happen?"

David's lips pulled into a reluctant smile. "A guy can dream."

Jason dropped onto a wooden bench that faced the gallery, watching the people inside highlighted against the darkness outside. "Yeah, I know that dream."

* * *

The reporters had left long ago, the crowd was starting to thin and Kurt was freaking out. He hadn't been so busy talking up his paintings and shaking hands with potential buyers that he had missed David and Jason leaving the room together. Surreptitiously keeping an eye out for his men, he had worked the white rooms, and eventually saw them outside, on the patio, together. He smiled and air-kissed and pretended to listen as strangers told him what his own work meant. He did it all with one eye on the patio door and a clock ticking in his head. They had been out there forever. He had no idea what they were saying to each other and that not-knowing was making his mind melt.

Watching from outside on the patio, Kurt was easy to pick out, framed as he was between the glass doors, talking to the few lingering guests. Eric Stedler stood beside his protégé looking as proud as if he had created Kurt himself from a little ball of clay. "Judging by the smile on Stedler's face," Jason nodded at the man on the other side of the glass doors. "I think Kurt did okay."

"He should be fucking happy; he gets fifty percent of every sale."

Jason rolled his eyes, and pumped his fist in the air. "Cha-Ching."

Forgetting for a second that he didn't want to like this guy, David laughed. Standing, he nodded towards the gallery. "We'd better get in there."

Half-way across the flagstones, Jason touched David's arm, and David turned to the younger man, his posture a question. Jason tilted his head, indicating their man. "He deserves a celebration."

David looked at Kurt and smiled. "Yes, he does."

Jason started talking again, walking backwards, facing Karofksy. "He's going to want to celebrate with both of us, you know that, right?"

His eyes flashing to the man in the gallery spotlight, David stopped walking. He hadn't thought of it, no, but he was thinking about it now. What was Kurt supposed to do, drop one of them off at the subway and take the other one home? Kurt wouldn't do that; he wouldn't choose one over the other like that. So that meant, what, that he'd go home alone on arguably the biggest night of his life? No fucking way!

Watching as Eric subtly guided the last of the wine drinkers out of the gallery, Kurt heard the patio door open and Jason's voice carry into the now quiet room. Spinning around, he saw Jason laughing as he tried to shove David's arm off his shoulders. "Get off me, you over-grown Boy Scout." With a wink at Kurt, David let the younger man go, and Jason bounced into the room.

The opening of the exhibit had been a success. There were little red stickers on almost every painting, Eric was talking another show, and the Arts critic from the Brooklyn Eagle had called his work, "Breathtakingly Brilliant." Kurt had thought this night couldn't get any better, right up until he turned around and saw his two men walking towards him, smiles on their faces and laughter in their eyes.

"So, we were thinking," Jason reached him first, leaning in for a hug, the way he always did. Kurt ruffled the younger man's hair and wrapped his other arm around Karofsky's waist as David joined them.

David continued Jason's sentence. "We should celebrate." The words were PG but the look in Karofsky's eyes wasn't. "What do you want to do?"

Staying glued along the side of his boyfriend's body, Jason moved his head back until he could see Kurt's face. "Who do you want to do?" His raised eyebrows did their own comedy routine.

A little old man started jumping up and down in Kurt's brain, smacking at the back of his head and shouting_, "This isn't real! Are you fucking kidding me? Who do you think you are, Matt Bomer?"_

David smiled down at Kurt, his eyes a little shy, a blush steeling across his cheekbones. "Who do you want to do, first?"

That little gnome of a man screaming in the back of his head? Kurt took aim and shot him, right between the eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Epilogue**

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**Author's Note: This last chapter is for Narutoyaoi4ever who didn't want anything left to the imagination :)**

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They weren't a threesome, not in the accepted sense of the word. Jason and David saw themselves as Kurt's lovers, not each other's. Even now, six months after the gallery opening, it was still Kurt and Jason or Kurt and David, most of the time. By some unspoken agreement, the triad of Kurt, Jason, and David was reserved for special occasions. Tonight was one of those nights. They were celebrating both David's transfer to the New York office and Jason's graduation.

Jason took his time removing his clothes, he knew that David preferred to have a little time alone with Kurt before Jason joined them. Tossing his shirt, he sat down to unlace his shoes, his eyes locked on the other two men. Fucking hot! Kurt was always gentle with David, commanding, in charge, yes, but always with a soft touch. As much as submission wasn't his thing, it was something to see; a fucking tree like David bending and swaying at the whim of a sapling like Kurt.

Naked, David knelt at Kurt's feet. Locked into the perfect submissive posture, he wanted. His pulse thundering in his ears, he wanted. His heart pounding, his balls already tight, and his cock hard, he wanted. Kurt stood above him, still dressed and that detail set fire to his blood.

Kurt traced his hands through Karofsky's hair, down the sides of his neck and over his shoulders. Sliding a hand down one arm, he wrapped a leather cuff around first one wrist and then the other. Tipping David's head to the side, he buckled the collar in place.

Kurt dressing him, like this, in his bonds, felt like acceptance, like love. Kurt's soft touch, the slide and scent of the leather, they whispered to David, "It's okay to want this. You're beautiful like this. I love you." He'd never actually told Kurt how he felt but he was certain he knew. Kurt, somehow, always knew.

Threading a finger through the silver ring attached to the front of the collar, Kurt pulled Karofsky's head up and leaning over, brushed his lips over David's. Deepening the kiss, his fist exerting a slight pressure under David's jaw, Kurt straightened, bringing David to his feet with him. Kurt nodded to the bed. "On your back." One click, then two, and David's wrists were locked to the metal grid work that was Kurt's headboard. Standing by the bed, Kurt skimmed a hand down Karofsky's body. Everything he felt for David shining in his eyes, he leaned over the bed and spoke next to David's ear. He spoke low enough that Jason wouldn't hear them, the words just for them. "Such a good boy. So perfect."

Turning from the bed, Kurt smiled at Jason. "Need a little help?"

Embarrassed to be caught practically drooling, one shoe hanging from his fingers, his cock trying to beat its way out of his jeans, Jason sprang out of the chair. "Nah, I'm good." Clothes hit the floor in a flurry. Smile covering his whole face, body naked, Jason padded over to Kurt. "You need some help?"

Nodding, Kurt turned his back to Jason so that he faced Karofsky, and decided to tease his younger lover. "I didn't know you had ambitions to be a gentleman's gentleman."

Standing behind Kurt, so that he didn't block David's view, Jason started unbuttoning Kurt's shirt. "Since I have no fucking clue what a gentleman's gentleman is, I don't think so."

Shaking his head in mock disappointment, Kurt shrugged out of his shirt. "Math geniuses, so little real world knowledge, have you never heard of Downton Abbey?"

Undoing Kurt's belt and zipper, Jason looked over Kurt's shoulder at David. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

Karofsky shrugged, an interesting manoeuver with his wrists strapped to the headboard. "I've heard some people around the office talking about the show, but I've never watched it."

Kurt kicked his biker boots off. "I'm surrounded by Philistines."

Snaking his hands inside Kurt's briefs, Jason pushed the jeans and underwear down Kurt's thighs. "I think he's insulting us."

David nodded. "I know he's insulting us." He would never think of teasing Kurt, not once their clothes came off. Jason was, what did Kurt call him, yes, incorrigible. Jason was incorrigible and he made David laugh.

Kurt bent over to pull off his socks and Jason took the opportunity to take a swat at his ass. In his need for speed Jason misjudged the strength behind the slap and his hand landed heavier than he had intended it to. The sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh rang out in the silence of the room and all three men froze.

_Oh, shit!_ Jason's eyes went wide and turning to David he saw the same shock reflected in his. _Oh, fuck! Kurt's going to kill me!_

It didn't hurt all that much, more sting than pain, it was the shock that stopped his breath. As heat fanned out from the point of contact, Kurt moved. Stripping off his last sock, he straightened up just in time to catch Jason as the younger man literally flew at him.

"Oh, fuck, Kurt! Are you okay? It was supposed to be just a tap. I didn't mean to actually hit you!" Jason was practically babbling, his hands running over Kurt, looking for injuries as if Kurt had been run over by a train.

Laughing, his hands on Jason's biceps, Kurt put space between them. "Jason, do you hear yourself? You're freaking out over a slap." Kurt pulled Jason back in for a hug, ruffling his hair the way he always did. "Who are you? This isn't the guy whose idea of foreplay includes a whip."

Jason muttered somewhere in the vicinity of Kurt's neck. "Well, yeah, but I like pain. You don't."

"You didn't hurt me." Turning his head to look at David, Kurt silently asked for help.

"Regardless to what Puck says, he's not actually a princess, you know." David paused and winked at Kurt. "And, his ass looks fucking hot like that."

Jason twisted under Kurt's arm, trying to get a look at his ass. "Oh, wow!" Sliding to his knees behind Kurt, he traced the edge of the red splotch. "Your skin's so pale, the red really stands out."

Kurt looked over his shoulder at Karofsky and they both laughed. "Porcelain!"

"What?" Jason didn't understand the non sequitur.

Watching Jason run his hands over Kurt's ass and thighs, his touch reverent, David had to smile. "Our coach used to call him Porcelain."

"Yeah?" Jason didn't care. Inching closer to Kurt, his hands on Kurt's hips, Jason licked, nibbled and kissed the contour of the fading splotch. "David's right, you look hot like this."

Kurt chuckled. "But I'm not going to look like this again, am I?"

Jason sat back on his knees. "No, it was an accident, promise." Kurt turned, so that he was facing both men, and Jason licked his lips. "Let me make it up to you."

Karofsky might have felt left out, alone on the bed, while Jason knelt at Kurt's feet, sliding his mouth up and down Kurt's cock, but he didn't. He didn't because as Kurt wound his fingers through Jason's waves he never took his eyes off David's.

Jason was good at this, very, very good but when Kurt started to feel that tightening in his balls he pulled away. He slid two fingers into Jason's mouth, replacing the cock he had withdrawn. "I'll prep David then take care of you?"

Jason was up off the floor and crawling over the bed for the lube before Kurt even finished speaking. "_I'll take care of you"_ was Kurt-speak for "_I'll hurt you so good_" and Jason couldn't be happier. Handing the lube to Kurt, Jason lay on his side and watched Kurt make love to his other boyfriend. It sounded bizarre, _other boyfriend,_ but that's how he and David saw it. At his office Christmas party, David had even introduced them to a colleague that way. "This is my boyfriend, Kurt and _his _boyfriend, Jason." Granted, Karofsky had been hitting the Holiday cheer a little too hard or he never would have said it but still, in vino veritas.

His lubed fingers busy, Kurt leaned over Karofksy, and feasted on his mouth. Shifting position, he spread himself out like a blanket, covering Karofsky. One hand up, the fingers twined with David's, their mouths locked, their chests plastered together, Kurt's body between David's spread legs, his other hand stretching him, the fingers searching and finding; Kurt was everywhere. He moved on David, into David and took him over.

Jason watched, occasionally he caressed Kurt, but mostly he just watched because how could he not? They were beautiful together; so real, so honest and so fucking hot! They had what everyone wanted trust, connection, pleasure and because of Kurt, Jason had that too.

Letting go of David's hand, Kurt pulled away from David's mouth and kissed his way down the broad chest. Following David's dusting of hair he slid his mouth over David's burning cock. Licking and sucking, he smiled around the hard flesh in his mouth, as Karofsky's litany of "Oh, God! Oh, Fuck!" continued unabated. Curving two fingers just right, he succeeded in making David shout. Withdrawing both mouth and fingers, he sat back on his knees and fumbled a drawer in the night table open. Lubing a bright blue butt plug, he pushed it in to Karofsky. The toy was a book mark of sorts; it would keep his place until he was ready. Holding himself over David, with his arms locked at the elbow, Kurt dropped a kiss on David's lips. "Wait for me, baby."

Turning to Jason with a grin, Kurt motioned the other man onto his back. "Your turn."

"About fucking time, I almost blew my load just watching you guys!"

Kurt slapped at Jason's legs and he spread them open. Sliding one hand up Jason's thigh, Kurt smiled into the green eyes already turning dark jade in anticipation. "But you're not complaining, are you?" Kurt closed his hand around Jason's sac and squeezed; too tight, too hard. Jason's head tipped back as his mouth opened on a groan. Releasing his grip, Kurt traced the delicate globes with a thumb, gentle now, rubbing the glands against each other. His touch firm, he smoothed a hand down Jason's other thigh, and brushed back up again. Knowing what was coming, Jason tensed. This time when Kurt clamped his hand around Jason's sac, he squeezed even tighter and Jason's whole body went taut. Kurt alternated, stroking one thigh and then the other, but the upstroke always ended with Jason's balls ground in Kurt's fist. The genital torture wasn't constant, in between the bursts of pain Kurt made sure to take the time to suck and lick and play with Jason's cock.

David watched, appalled and aroused in equal measure. This kind of pain, any kind of pain, actually, was not for him. He could enjoy a mild erotic spanking but that was mostly because of the accompanying feelings of submission. This, this he couldn't do. Even though he knew Jason was going to come out of this dancing on some endorphin high, David didn't like to see him in pain. What he did like, what he found fascinating, was watching his boyfriend. Kurt was alert, hyper aware of every twitch or moan or cry that Jason made. He was careful, controlled, each move choreographed to bring Jason pleasure. He was totally focused on Jason, his feelings for the man clear, and that was just fucking hot.

Sweat broke out across Jason's chest, tears leaked out from under his closed eyelids, and Kurt knew he was close. Bending over Jason, working his cock with lips and tongue, Kurt reached out and grabbed the lube he had dropped on the sheet earlier. Squeezing out a dollop, he spread the liquid over his fingers and plunged them into Jason. Gliding over that patch of sensitive nerves with two fingers, and working his cock with soft wet pressure, Kurt brought Jason to the edge and held him there. Moaning and pleading now, words whispered past Jason's throat without his permission. "Please, Kurt. Please! God, now! Please, Kurt." In one coordinated assault, Kurt sucked hard on Jason's crown, thrust against his prostrate and with his free hand clamped down on Jason's balls.

Jason screamed and went off like a fucking rocket, shooting down Kurt's throat. Swirling his tongue in circles, his hands gentle on Jason's hips and thighs, Kurt waited for the last tremor to dissipate before he gathered Jason up and rolled. On his back, with Jason clinging to his chest, Kurt stroked and hummed and gentled Jason back to them. "You okay, Jase?"

"Mmmm, good, so fucking good." His words were slurred but his satisfaction was clear.

Kurt turned to the man beside him and tipped his head up. Karofsky kissed him, his tongue sliding along Kurt's lips, slipping into his mouth, warming him, loving him. Carefully, Kurt slipped Jason off him and moved him to one side of the bed. Leaning over Jason, Kurt grabbed the edge of the duvet and brought it up, over Jason, covering the younger man. Sliding back to David's side, Kurt cuddled into the other man, licking at his neck and under his jaw. He thumbed his nipples and traced his ribs before moving down and reawakening the now only semi-erect cock. "I'm sorry, that wasn't such a good idea, making you wait."

David chuckled, his chest vibrating under Kurt's ear. "Lucky for you I've got a submissive kink a mile wide that thinks it's hot to wait on his lord and master." He was joking but it was true, he was already hard and heavy in Kurt's hand.

"Yeah," Reaching for the lube, Kurt anointed his own cock. Leaning back so that Karofsky could see every move, he stroked himself with the hand that wasn't wrapped around David's length. His touch languid, his hips pulsing slowing against the sheets, Kurt closed his eyes, his lips sliding into a sultry smile. "I'm lucky like that."

A few months ago, after one of their triad conversations, they had all been tested and come out clear so they no longer used condoms. Kneeling between David's thighs, Kurt plucked the toy out and pushed himself in. Pushing one of David's legs up over his shoulder, Kurt moved in his lover. Using the same languid strokes he had been using on himself, he had every intention of making this last forever.

David's hips lifted, meeting Kurt's every stroke, moving with him. "Ah, so good. Forever, Kurt, make it last forever."

It got frenzied and fast before they were done and it didn't, of course, last forever. But _they_ were forever and this was there for them whenever they were ready.

Uncurling himself from David, Kurt reached up and undid the cuffs. He massaged David's arms, rubbing over his wrists, making sure he was comfortable before curling back against him.

"Hey?" David and Kurt turned as one, to see Jason's head popping out from under the duvet, his eyes bright with laughter. "How come he gets fucked and I only get a blow-job?"

**The End**


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